


You've Begun to Feel Like Home

by rintherat, Wendochist



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: A mess of heartfelt and heartwrenching content, Also angsty as FUCK though, Anxiety, Comedy, Crying, Depression, Dream Smp, Existential Crises, Fluff, Ghost Hunter AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Platonic Romance, Romance, Sleep Bois Inc., Tommy and Tubbo being gremlins, colorblind, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rintherat/pseuds/rintherat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wendochist/pseuds/Wendochist
Summary: “First off, short boy, we would never need a babysitter! We are responsible adults! We are the smartest and most mature people you will ever meet! He’s our brother, not a babysitter, you bitch!” Tommy began spewing out a concoction of words faster than Fergalicious.Secondly, what about the bendy straw? I’ll have you know bendy straws are very manly! Right, Tubbo?”“Absolutely Tommy! Very manly. Can I have some chips?”“Tubbo, if you ask for chips one more time, I’m going to eat them in front of you and smash your piano. I swear to god.”“Hey, hey Tommy. May I please have some chips?”
Relationships: Platonic!Skephalo, dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

George had $10 in hand, twinkle toes strapped on and Thrift Shop blasting in his ears. He sauntered into the Goodwill ready to start hoarding some snow globes. An unconventional hobby sure, but when you’ve just been fired and are broke, you gotta do what you gotta do. He was in dire need of some new clothes anyway, and what better place to fulfil his needs than the local goodwill down the street.  
He browsed through the odd assortment of items, ranging from a life-sized plushie of Pablo from Backyardigans to hoodies in oddly piss-like colors. He sifted through the many aisles of forgotten belongings before finally settling in the cheap discount table in a dingy corner of the store. Unwanted, unused, and untouched relics were laid out in various clusters, George tousling with the many piles in search of something that piqued his interest. 

Dropping limp infant clothing and a used paint set to the side, his gaze finally befell on the short glimmering of light against glass. He neared the corner of the table, where a spherical object sat atop a muddy yellow hoodie. It was encased within the gentle folds of cloth, securing the globe safely in its midst. George blinked once, and glanced at the shimmering object before him. It was a Minecraft themed snow globe, tiny figurine goats dancing atop powdered mountain tops. His hands brushed against the hoodie as he picked it up, and he noticed offhandedly that there were a few rather noticeable stains across its expanse. Whether these stains were from blood or maybe a bad tie dye experiment, George did not know.

It was an odd collection of items, to put it simply. A snow globe depicting mobs from a game he had never once played, and the strange hoodie it was tucked neatly inside of. He lightly dragged the back of his hand across the surface of the fabric, gasping lightly at its surprisingly soft texture. It was worn, and had for many years experienced the love and handling of another until it was one day shipped up and sold like all the other junk in this store. It was endearing, comfortable and looked to be about his size.

George nodded to himself, a smile dancing across his face as he wrapped the snow globe gently back into the hood of the sweater. He folded its contents back up and held it firmly in his arms, glancing over the expanse of the discount table one last time as though bidding farewell to an old friend. It made him feel like a dumbass but for whatever reason it felt like this table held so many memories he would never experience, so many emotions he himself would never feel. It was scary, though also so amazing to him all the same. 

George blinked, snapped back to reality by his fingers running over the sleek glass of the snowglobe. Now is not the time to get philosophical in a goodwill, George.

He made his way swiftly to checkout, weaving through aisles of broken kitchen utensils and porcelain dolls. He still isn’t entirely sure what compelled him to bring along the hoodie, maybe it was the urge to figure out what the sketchy stain was, or maybe it was just the fact that he had no job and an alarming shortage of clothes, but either way it was coming home with him. He placed the package neatly before the cashier, who scanned his items with haste. Most likely a college student yearning for a long awaited break. 

“11.47 is your total sir.” George sighed, reaching into his jeans pocket. “Shit, I’ve only got a ten” he muttered, jostling around the denim in search of loose change. He began panicking when the confines of his seams came up dry, chuckling awkwardly in the direction of the cashier. He had just about given up when a peppy voice invaded his private bubble. “Do you need some extra cash?”  
A voice perked up behind him, and George yelped in surprise. He tensed up, glancing towards him with a timid geam to his eye. The man was short, at least by George’s standards, gentle chestnut locks adorning his pale exterior. A pair of smudged glasses rested on his nose, an accessory that he fumbled with quickly. When George didn’t respond the man coughed awkwardly, repeating himself. “You’re low on cash, right? I’d be happy to give ya some, no charge!” He assured the man, fumbling for his wallet. “How much do you need?”  
\  
George wasn't sure how to react at first, and after a tense moment of glancing one another up and down he finally realized what he was being asked. ‘Oh… Oh!” He smiled lightly. “Thank you.. But that's really not-” “It’s no big deal! I love being helpful, if you’ll have me of course?” He trailed on, pushing his shimmering glassware frames higher on his face. A beaming smile stretched across his lips. His name tag read Daryll.

“Th.. thank you! That’s really nice of you, seriously.” George began, faltering. “But it’s only about a dollar anyway, you really don't have to do that. I don't need this hoodie all that much anywa-” “Nonsense!” The man sharply cut him off, gripping George’s shoulder affectionately. “No need to give it up entirely because of a single dollar.” He snorted, dropping the exact sum of money in the palm of his hand. The coins clattered into George’s palm, a collection that- to his surprise- equated to $1.47.

The cashier swiped the collection from George’s hand, clattering the coins into the deepest confines of the register before slamming it shut. Within one swift moment, before he could even protest, George was being handed the hoodie, snowglobe and being ushered towards the door. “Wai.. wait no I have to-” George began mumbling to himself. 

He glanced back to the man, who was distancing himself from the former with a knowing grin. His eyes swam with sadness, glistening with a wisdom George could never know the contents of. The man tugged gently at the sleeves of his light blue hoodie, fondly gripping at the worn hems as he bid George goodbye. “Have a nice day, and keep that hoodie close!” The man called back with a gentle smile,

“I have a feeling you’ll find it quite to your liking.”

\- - -

Darryl wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, slipping off his sleek black gloves and folding them neatly on the table. He removed his glasses from his face, huffing a few times on the shimmering surface and wiping them down with his sleeve. 

He had been left alone in the store, the rest of his family departing shortly earlier. The loud clatter of the bell alarmed him as they noisily exited the store. Gently handling a few objects from the confines of a dusty box, he placed them atop the pearly surface of the discount table.  
One man’s junk, another's treasure, he often told himself. If labelling choice antiques as discount gave them a better chance at finding a home, Darryl was willing to live with the consequences. It was certainly one of the more strange hobbies, visiting every local goodwill in search of ancient antiques to discount for others. Though, he did suppose that boy from earlier must have had much stranger pastimes if he bought a snowglobe and blood stained hoodie.

Darryl chuckled at that thought, replaying the way the man’s eyes shone in the back of his mind as though a shattered record. He wonders sometimes if he’d still do the things he did if he knew less. He’d always held a deep endearment for helping people no matter the cost, but he certainly never expected that to entail his daily quota being filled in a worn down thrift store. 

Life works in mysterious ways, and this job was one that he felt a close attachment to. The owners must think of him as a real wackjob, he admitted with a sigh. A year ago, he himself would be wary of someone constantly rearranging their shelves,, pay for other’s bills and then leave without anything in his hands to speak for it.

Sometimes he wished his life were simpler. Anything besides the antics he got up to now, something that would have made his younger self proud. But hey, what kid didn't look forward to committing petty crimes every day of his adult life?

Jokes aside, Darryl was pleased with what he’d made of his time. It may seem unconventional to the outside eye but it made him happy to share what he had with others. Tugging lightly at the strings of his light blue hoodie, he began to make his way towards the opposite end of the store, a secluded corner bustling with loose packaging and discarded items.

He shot a glance in either direction. His foot tapped at the concrete floor, tentative and loud. “Hey, you there?” He called out, gaze melting over the expanse of the stoor. The familiar high pitched laughing filled his mind, followed by silence. Darryl’s face flushed, going bright red at the sound. He glanced towards the noise, his heart fluttering as he was met only by a stained concrete base.

Darryl furthered into the corner, examining the tattered boxes sprawled out before him. He glanced them over thoughtfully, nearing the ground as he outstretched his arm to unearth its contents. The slender tip of his finger hovered over the lowest, and frankly largest package in the pile. 

Tense silence stretched before him, and for a moment the man considered leaving. He huffed in annoyance. “Stop playing games, we need to talk.” His words were directed towards the box, an entity that shuddered at his touch. Darryl prepared himself with a shaky breath, preparing for a scare, and with a shudder he tossed the flaps of the box open.

It was empty.

It was… empty?

He swiftly picked up the large box, lifting it above his head and tossing it aside, diving into the pile of empty cardboard. Darryl fished around the mountain of boxes, grunting loudly and mumbling choice words to himself. “where… did you-“ his voice smothered in the clattering of antiques. “I know y…….. in ther-“ 

Darryl had defaced every box in the stack, exhausted and about to give up. But, he had heard..? Was he mistaken? 

He dusted his slack off with one short motion, hopping lightly to his feet. He sighed. He was going insane. A short laugh left his pursed lips.

Why wouldn’t he be? He’d already acknowledged he was mad. It wasn’t new. It was a burden with which he had to deal. Who spends more time at goodwill than home, and who goes around babysitting clinically ill kids? The freaks. No sane person puts their life savings towards the occult and treehouses. No normal adult dodged the cops to secure the well-being of others as though some novel vigilante. 

Darryl dwelled in the realm of the mad. 

He knew that, he had for as long as he’d known.

His heart erupted into a cacophony of untuned beats, clattering violently his thoughts every passing second. 

He was unstable, a wreck and danger to those around him. The world began to spin, everything around him dripping in sickly shades of green. 

He needed to get out of this blasted store.

It was turning him into a freak.

But there’s one thing that he seemed to forget in that moment, as he began making his way out of the store. 

One thing he neglected as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands deep into the confines of his love’s hoodie.

One thing he forgot as he reached for the door.

Freaks have to stick together.

A hand slammed into the glass with an echoing bang, palms pressed firmly into the opaque glass with a sickening slap. Darryl shrieked at the top of his lungs, collapsing to the floor as he stumbled to collect himself. His sneakers squealed against the tiles in protest, toppling him on his side. 

His body was tense, hands clammy and an intense sweat collecting over the expanse of his face. His pupils darted between the handle, window, door, handle, and back to the door again. The hand was enshrouded in darkness, drowning in the pitch black abyss of the outer world.

It began slowly falling, dragging over the surface of the tinted glass with a sickening squeal. Then, just as quickly as the dramatic music blasting out his eardrums arrived,it vanished. The sound vanished, the space quickly occupied by a high pitched giggling from the other side.

The door flung inwards, barely grazing past Darryl’s body collapsed on the rubber welcome mat. A silhouetted stood at the other end of the now ajar door, a familiar pair of shimmering russet eyes squinted in laughter. 

At the other side of the door, standing just feet away was a form that made his heart swell with joy at just witnessing. His every movement sent off fireworks in the pit of Darryl’s stomach, his eyes widening so far in delight he believed they may pop out.

The man before him, who leaned down towards him promptly to usher Darryl to his feet. 

The man who owned the very hoodie he had loosely draped over his own frame. 

The one who swung him off his feet and would dance to the tune of their own low, humming voices. 

His one and only, his soulmate.

Zak.


	2. Chapter 2

The events that unfolded days earlier continued racing through George’s mind. His thoughts reeled and clattered around in the hollow expanse of his skull like popped kernels. He loosely gripped the snowglobe’s edges, spinning it on its sides and directing the contained water in different directions. After day’s pondering he still had yet to decipher just what that cryptic man’s nonsense meant. 

The goats beamed into his eyes, wide beady eyes peering into George’s soul. He handled its expanse awkwardly, trying to think of something, anything he could do with this. It was the only snowglobe he had seen in the store, and despite it depicting a game he had never seen any content of he had decided to spend his last few cents on it. 

He hung his head. What the fuck was wrong with him.

He tucked the antique among his extensive shelves of hoarded globes, hiding the cheap snow globe amongst his other more aesthetically pleasing ones. His line of 73 snow globes rested neatly on the shelfs, organized in what he thought perfectly depicted the rainbow. Whether or not it was actually accurate, George haden’s the slightest idea. It’s pretty hard to try and organize colors if you’ve never truly seen a rainbow.

Turning around, his eyes landed on the hoodie which was laying haphazardly on the couch, a centimeter away from falling off. He had yet to move it since tossing it in that spot, spending many days squinting at it in hopes of uncovering its secrets. It was beginning to collect dust, and George realized it would probably be best to wash it soon. He still had no idea what that sickly stain was and with each passing minute regretted making this purchase more and more. 

He should probably wash it, he admitted. But at the moment he didn’t feel like making his way to the laundromat. He still wasn’t quite sure why he bought this dumb thing. It was incredibly soft and in decently new condition but it just felt too good for him. 

George isn’t entirely sure what compelled him to buy it, but at the time it seemed like his responsibility to rehabilitate it. It had this strange air around it, almost as if it was something more, as if a spotlight was illuminating it in his mind. 

He shook his head quickly, eyes squinted as he drowned his thoughts out. He’d have a crisis over this hoodie later. A nice and fluffy bed was awaiting his presence, and who was he to say no? He could ponder his life later, when he wasn’t half asleep. George collapsed atop the squishy mattress with a half-bounce. He closed his eyes, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. It really had been an odd; and exhausting week. Getting fired, collecting snow globes, and prophets telling him to buy strange hoodies. He might as well start a bingo card. What’s next, ghosts?

He sunk deeper into the memory foam with a heavy sigh. Exhaustion had crept up on him, the bags beneath his eyes deepening by the second. Surely, resting for a few moments couldn’t hurt. Right?

Just as quickly as George had closed them, his eyes were fluttering open gently. The distant sun beaming down on him, illuminating his skin with a gentle warmth. He crawled out of the blankets he had cocooned himself in, yawning as he made his way to the kitchen. He had a free day, even though he guessed everyday was a free day now without a job. He should probably look for one later, but that was future George’s problem. Current George was hungry and too lazy to cook, so without a second thought he grabbed his blue hoodie and headed to the bakery.

It wasn’t too far from George’s small apartment, so he made the executive decision to actually exercise once in his life and walk. He strolled down the cobbled streets, heels of his boots clicking harshly against the paved roads. Russet eyes gazing across the expanse of the streets as he blinked harshly against the sun. Taking in the various decades-old architecture melted with more modern creations, all mushed together like some great collage of the times. With not a cloud to be seen dotting the vibrant blue skies, a wave of heat overtook the jet black asphalt.

It wasn’t a long walk, no more than ten minutes. However as someone whose only exercise came from trekking the stairs to his apartment, it was a perilous journey. He could practically feel the way his rubbered soles melted into the pavement, permanently cementing his every step in stone. Maybe walking in three layers and sweatpants wasn’t the smartest of his decisions, but it was one he would stick with confidently. George wasn’t weak.

And then, just ahead, the bakery came into his vision. Those glorious shimmering doors sparkled against the pale backdrop, illuminating the muddy brown building with vibrant hues of orange. Pastries and cakes were displayed through the windows by the dozens. Everything from muffins to fruit tarts were visible through the glass, arranged in towers and rows, ones that caught the viewers eyes instantly. An enticing, desirable collection of everything he couldn't afford. He collapsed into the bakery’s doors, inhaling obnoxiously at the sudden rush of air conditioning. A few choice glances shot in his direction, the door jingling loudly as it harshly slammed against the bell atop its frame. George wondered for a moment if he was overreacting, but as someone who only recently moved this far south for college, it was uncomfortably warm.

The bakery was at a decent capacity, with most booths being filled by eager couples or students clicking away at their laptops, coffee as dark as the night in hand. He gazed over the tables, intrigued as he hurriedly made his way towards the register. There wasn't anyone in line, with only one cashier present. In a few short, tense moments he ordered his usual iced coffee, eventually settling on a simple cream cheese bagel for food. Paying for his order, with the correct amount of change this time, he grabbed his food and wandered towards the back.

George began humming a tune as he strolled through the rows of milky brown booths. Little April Shower danced on his lips, the upbeat hum traveling between his pursed lips. The chorus melted in the back of his mind as though honey coating his thoughts. He glanced over his plastic bag. He swirled the coffee gently, watching the liquid become a vortex within its plastic confines. He found the sight quite soothing, and since then his earlier stress was beginning to dissipate.   
He spotted an empty booth in the very backmost corner, the second to-last in the building. The last booth only occupied by a larger group that were quite loudly discussing matters over breakfast. He shot them all a quick look up and down as he passed, his peripheral vision locking on platinum blonde locks, a dark green button-up and various heavy layers of cloth adorning the groups frail frames. George didn’t think much of the backs of the heads of the group, or rather until he caught wind of their… conversation.

“I am not a child, bitch!” The blonde one exclaimed, “I am a manly man, the biggest of men! I drink my coffee… without any creamer!” He had paused dramatically between his words, all the while deepening his voice drastically to, or at least George assumed to, make himself seem manlier. This seemed all fair and good, and George was about to stroll past without any comment, that was until he noticed that the blond kid wasn’t demanding praise from anyone in particular. Instead, he was yelling angrily at the wall, jabbing his finger at the empty air. There was… nobody there.

“Tommy,” one of the men whose face George could not yet see, began bargaining with the boy tensely. “You know there are other people here,” he began, placing emphasis on the fact that they were not alone. ”Watch your language, and maybe stop talking to an EMPTY wall.” George passed the group with a plight of confusion, glancing back at the commotion in his alarm and in a split moment caught sight of something that made his heart stop.

The first boy he saw, the one with gentle chestnut locks, was quietly sitting there, sipping orange juice from a yellow bendy straw. He seemed unbothered by the other two’s antics, seeming to just enjoy being there. He was the first who seemed to acknowledge George’s presence, poking Tommy in the side, and whispering something to him. But the one that caught him off guard, almost sent him tumbling forward into the nearby booth, was a familiar face.

The man from the Goodwill. The one who paid the remaining fee for his belongings, having the exact amount of change at hand without knowing the amount he needed, who urged him to make the purchase before ushering him out the door. The man who had been taunting his every thought all day and night.

He tried rushing into the seat, attempting to raise his hood over his face and just finish eating. However his curiosity got the better of him, and for a moment he hesitates, just long enough for the man to notice his lingering presence before their booth. The gears in his mind almost seemed to turn at the sight, before perking up brightly and almost leaping at him. “Oh, oh!! Hey, George!” He greeted brightly, waving the man over.

George didn't recall giving him his name. He paused, iced coffee sloshing in his hand at the motion, before parting his lips in confusion. The man continued to call him over, “Nice to see you again! We met at Goodwill the other day, if you remember?” He offered, raising an eyebrow in thought. George snorted, “I might have an idea.” he chuckled lightly. He didn't exactly understand why this man was so comfortable with him, hell they didn't even know one another's names (well, for the most part.) but it felt nice to see such a friendly face. Especially after so many years of solitude. 

The man coughed shortly as a figure beside him punched him from across the table, and the two young boys seemed to be waving motions before their faces. They motioned for him to stop sharply, the blonde one promptly pulling his bandana higher onto his face. He thought he heard the brown haired one mumbling something about how he couldn't keep talking to people they met during gigs, glancing shyly at George. Goodwill Man shot back something at the two, who straightened up cautiously at his commanding tone. They stopped motioning for George to leave but instead began giving him strange side-glances. George coughed awkwardly, feeling the need to interject but not sure exactly what to say.

“Er- well thank you for helping me out with that money the other day. You were.. Really conveniently on time, actually. Mr…..?” George extended his hand in an attempt to be polite, which was promptly taken and shook in the grips of the other. “Daryll, the name’s Daryll. But you can just call me Bad.” He smiled warmly, firmly grasping before releasing George’s clammy palms. Bad? He considered questioning the strange preference, but in the end deciding against it. He merely nodded promptly in response. 

“I noticed you already have food, no reason for us to just awkwardly sit in opposite booths.” Bad pointed out, glancing down at the bagged bagel in his gentle grips. “You could, always sit with us.” He offered, “if you’re comfortable with that.” George glanced between Bad and the two boys opposite him. “I could use some friends anyway,” Bad admitted with a weak smile.

Aghh, George couldn't say no to that. He looks so pathetic! And sad! He’s literally asking him to sit with him and his kids. That’s pathetically adorable, how the hell can he say no. What monster hurt him. THEY LOOK SO SAD. 

“Oh yeah of course, I don't mind!” George began, motioning towards the empty seat beside the two kids. He planned that it would be better to keep eye contact with Bad, rather than shifting sideways in their seats and awkwardly staring at these literal children. “Is it alright if I sit here?” He placed his iced coffee and bag on an empty spot on the table, beginning to lower himself into the seat before being promptly halted by the glowering looks in the other’s eyes. “No, sorry you uh-” The tall, brown haired one began, promptly being cut off by the one he knew to be Tommy. “You can't sit there. The seat is, um, broken!” He announced knowingly, 

Even Bad, who seemed so kind had adopted a steely glint in his eyes, warning him of what would happen if he did. George had no idea why they were so protective of the empty seat, it didn’t seem like they were waiting for anyone. But if the look in their eyes said anything, he wasn’t exactly eager to ask.

“Yeah! It’s totally busted,” Tommy laughed nonchalantly. “Like if you sat on it you’d fall right on your face! That’s how Tubbo got those bandages, and if you followed his footsteps? Well you wouldn’t be a man at all! Well to be fair based on your height you’re not a very big man anyway, maybe more of a short young adult?” Tommy pondered that idea. “Yeah, alright. If you sat there you would be even less of a young adult and an even shorter man. Practically nothing in the hierarchy.”

George decided to be very forgiving and forget that last comment. He was now instead, extremely confused. The seat didn’t look broken in the slightest, it didn’t even have a tear in the fabric. Practically no way that this huge ass kid fell through it. It’s literally in pristine condition, maybe having been wiped down a few minutes ago. Why were they so bent on no one sitting there? Were they just territorial? Antisocial? From how loud they were, they didn’t seem to shy away from attention. Did they just not like him? Was he not good enough for their little bakery booth club?

Bad’s eyes softened, seeing the confusion and slight hurt on George's face, “Sorry, sorry.” He began, “they just get a bit rude around people they don’t know! You can just sit here, it's really not an issue.” He assured the former, glancing at the boys protectively.

Ah, so they were just antisocial. Maybe they don’t want to be noticed but just kind of give off that aura together. George knew what that was like, introverted until given something to talk about. It made perfect sense in his mind, they did seem to be a bit protective of each other. 

George obliged. It literally couldn't hurt to make new friends considering he didn't have anyone by his side. When he dropped out of college he lost all connection with his peers and hasn’t made contact with his family members in years. 

Considering his position, even freaks would be better than nothingness. And these guys seemed right up that alley.

Bad scooted down a little ways, leaving plenty of room by the wall still but all the same giving George enough space to comfortably lounge. He tried to make some small talk, being guided only by conversation starters his ninth grade counselor had given him. 

“So who are these two? Are they your brothers? Or.. are you babysitting? Friend of a friend?” George began rambling, motioning towards the two frail boys across from him. He then took notice of the drinks clutched between their small palms, and the jet black coffee that Tommy seemed to be taking sips from. He didn't allow them to answer his first question, instead continuing, “A-are you drinking coffee from a bendy straw? How is that thing not melting?”

“First off, short boy, we would never need a babysitter! We are responsible adults! We are the smartest and most mature people you will ever meet! He’s our brother, not a babysitter, you bitch!” Tommy began spewing out a concoction of words faster than Fergalicious herself.   
“ Secondly, what about the bendy straw? I’ll have you know bendy straws are very manly! Right, Tubbo?”

“Absolutely Tommy! Very manly. Can I have some chips?”

“Tubbo, if you ask for chips one more time, I’m going to eat them in front of you and smash your piano. I swear to god.”

“Hey, hey Tommy. May I please have some chips?”

Tommy pulled out a bag of Monster Munch from his backpack. Why he had chips in his backpack, George had no idea. Tommy smugly opened the bag, shoving his hand its greasy contents, pulling out a handful of chips. 

“Hey, Tubbo, you see these chips?” He taunted. “See them? Well they’re in my mouth now, so fuck off. You’re not getting any!”

Bad’s face morphed into one of severe offense. “Language, you muffin heads!”

“I take it back then! You’re not a manly man, you’re a child!” Tubbo shot at Tommy, sticking his tongue out, like the mature manly man he was. 

“Bitch! You know that’s a lie! We’re the same age! If anything you’re the child, I’m taller than you anyway!” Tommy said angrily, bits of chips falling out of his mouth as he shoved even more in.

“Tommy. Give Tubbo some chips and stop being so loud, or I’m taking your camera for 3 days. There is another person here, who I’m sure would love to be included in a conversation, that isn’t about chips, and for god's sake, stop talking with food in your mouth! I am not your mother.” Bad exclaimed, aiming a sorry glance towards George, who seemed a bit uncomfortable at the boy yelling.

“Fine then! What the fuck do you want to talk about, small man?”

“Language!”

“Oh yeah, and by the way, Bad?” Tubbo interjected with an innocent smile. Tommy met his gaze with an equally as ecstatic look. He continued for his friend, “You owe us twenty bucks.”


	3. Chapter Three

Bad blanked, glancing between George and the two opposite him. “Twenty.. Twenty bucks? What do you me- ohhhh, this is about the spotlight thing isn't it.” He concluded suddenly, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He began reaching for his wallet absentmindedly with a disappointed scowl.

“It's about the spotlight thing.” Tommy confirmed smugly. Tubbo outstretched his arm with a cheeky grin, motioning for Bad to hand over the cash. Bad rolled his eyes, placing the crisp 20$ bill in his clammy palms.

Bad had almost entirely forgotten about THE Spotlight Bet, assuming that it was another fantasy that would never come true. Some dumb plot that would never actually come into fruition. However, much to his dismay, they managed to pull it off. 

Bad had been trying, and failing for weeks to give that frayed hoodie a place to call home. Nobody had been up to buying it and they had to begin using some…. alternative methods. 

“Are you guys sure this is going to work?” Bad voiced his concern, almost doubtfully. “I am SO confident that it will work. I’ll even bet you twenty bucks it does.” Tommy assured the former, grunting in discomfort as Tubbo kneed him in the side. He hissed in protest, Tubbo shooting back an apologetic glance. 

“But.. are they not going to see you? You’re kind of…. Tall.” Bad was seeking for a word to describe this operation, and finally settled upon tall. Well, it was fitting.

Tubbo was sitting haphazardly on Tommy’s shoulders, wobbling as he fought to maintain balance. He eventually settled on gripping at Tommy’s hoodie and using his other hand to maneuver the flashlight. Tommy began making his way towards the corner of the aisle, positioning the mass of a few boxes before his lanky build. 

He fumbled with the clasp around the small makeup mirror, a loud click resonating from its handle as he popped it open. Tommy looked up towards Tubbo with a smug gleam in his eye. “Are you ready for this, Agent Bee?” Tubbo matched the twinkle with an equally ecstatic grin. In one short motion he moved his grasp from Tommy’s hoodie and gave a short salute. “Always am, Agent Pog.”

“Tubbo!” Bad shrieked as the former began wobbling haphazardly. “Get down from there!” He attempted to make his way over the clutter, failing miserably. “Agent Bee.” Tubbo corrected, almost harshly. “Tub-” “Agent. Bee.” Tommy cut him off, correcting Bad with a slight menace to his eyes. He got a little too overdefensive over Bad calling him by the wrong name, and began glaring daggers at the former. However he then continued with a gentle smile, his earlier demeanor melting from his face. “Isn’t that right, Agent Bad?” He spoke, almost sickly sweet. 

Bad shot him a look, almost as if implying ‘we’ll talk about this later mister.’ but ultimately dropping it. He shook his head in exhaustion, wanting to collapse. Keeping up with these kids was a lot of work, a lot more than he thought he was cut out for. So much so that he was glad to have the help that a certain someone could provide. Speaking of which, a loud bustling sounded up through the aisles. A figure appeared excitedly before Bad, as though he had been running to this side of the story. “Bad, Bad Bad Bad Bad!” The boy began rambling, hopping from one foot to another in glee.   
“Zak!” He commented, taken aback by the sudden presence. He jumped lightly at the sudden form before him, mere inches from his face. He didn't exactly return Zak’s ecstatic beaming, but instead shot him an awkward chuckle as he took a short step backwards. “Wha.. what are you doing? Did something happ-” Zak pressed a slender finger to his lips, silencing his worries quickly. Bad’s concerns flickered out like a diminished flame as their skin made contact, his face flushing in 100 vibrant shades of red. “Oh my god Bad shut the hell up this dude has a CAT HOODIE.” He gushed excitedly.

The former began hopping from one foot to another as he flapped his hands in pure glee. Bad glanced at him, with a short pause. “Cat ho- wait, who was a cat hoodie?” He retraced, having to manually rewire the misplaced cogs in his mind. Zak grabbed him by either shoulder, pulling him closer with a dead serious tint dripping amongst the darkest depths of his eyes. “Him.”

“Him?” Bad gulped, tugging at the hem of his own hoodie. “Him.” Zak confirmed with a concise nod, staring very seriously into Bad’s soul. The former slouched back, freeing himself hastily from the grip of his captor to glance at the two boys behind him. Tubbo nodded quickly, a lopsided grin dripping over his features. “Yeah! And he has these cool chains that clink when he walks.” He informed Bad, who shot a terse glance in the other direction. He glanced towards it, the hoodie. 

The others also simultaneously directed their attention in its direction, a few more aware of what it meant than others, but they all knew what it signified. They all held a mutual understanding of how important this was to them, how important it would be to him. It’s quite literally everything to that boy, something that Bad couldn't deny. And so, it mattered to him too.

“Well, I suggest you get back to your job.” Bad commented knowingly, glancing up towards the discount table, which was now being paced by a gentle, thoughtful gaze. “Because it looks like we have a customer, boys.”

The man neared the table slowly, toying nonchalantly with his items almost as if he was embarrassed to be seen there. He began pawing at the various fabrics there, and Bad shot a quick thumbs up to the kids. Zak rushed back over to his position by the hoodie, and Bad ducked hastily beneath a shelf to avoid detection by the unknowing man. He smiled gently. It was time.

With albeit bit of rustling on the kid’s side, Operation Spotlight was in full effect.

The makeshift spotlight shone a soft light on the ragged green hoodie, illuminating it in a warm orange glow for all to see. Incidentally, it reflected harshly against the neighboring snow globe tucked within its contents, an added plus that none of them had considered until then. Tommy thought gleefully that it looked almost like a game, that picking this hoodie up would start some sort of sidequest. The light was hardly noticeable, almost more of a subliminal gleam than a spotlight, but it gave the hoodie that commercial look. The ones with famous people trying to get you to buy a product. Tommy decided that was exactly how this spotlight made the hoodie look. In fact, it was almost appearing as if he was in the set of a commercial ad himself. Why, if this short guy didn’t buy it, Tommy just might buy it himself! It was just so professional and manly, if he did say so himself. And that's coming from the biggest man of all, meaning it must be fact.

They had shifted their positions slightly to cater to the both of them. Tubbo, after much stumbling and failure, was now sitting right next to him. He held the flashlight firmly, directing its burst of light into the mirror so the light was more of a glow around the item, rather than a harsh light. Tubbo believed it made it look more mysterious and Tommy agreed. Bad still considered the whole operation useless as shining a light over an already stained hoodie would do no good in persuading others to want it. Tommy guessed he didn’t technically say its a STUPID idea, he just kinda gave one of those ‘im so over this and your idea isn’t going to work’ stares. Tommy and Tubbo both know Bad didn’t say it outloud, but it was very much implied through his constant sighing.

Anyways, the boys were anxiously watching this short twinkle toes wearing man, pick up a bloodstained hoodie and a Minecraft snow globe. He was inspecting the items rather thoughtfully, turning the glass globe in many different angles and pawing gently at the soft material that made up the hoodie. He nodded softly, humming a bit to himself as he grabbed the two items. Nearby, a man began smiling at these actions. A gentle smirk tugged at the tips of his lips as he saw George pick up the hoodie, a smile that he couldn’t find a way to diminish.

This very man was in the next aisle, sitting atop the very highest rack. He rested in an almost criss-cross applesauce sprawl, draping himself comfortably across the shelf as though he had sat there for a long while. There wasn’t a lot to note about this man, as every inch of his body was covered in layers and layers of cloth. A mask covered the remaining space that his hoodie couldn’t, a goofy smiley face drawing sloppily on its surface. Tommy noted how he seemed to take the word e-boy to heart, almost going a teeny bit too far with that aesthetic. He wasn’t entirely certain from the distance, but Tommy assumed he might have been even taller than himself. The only thing that Tommy refused to admit was impressive was the pair of grey Florida gators sweatpants that he seemed to wear with no shame. Those were fucking tacky. Though Tommy understood, through past experience, assumed it wasn’t exactly something he could control, much less something others would see.

This job wasn’t one that either of them asked for. If given the chance they would take back their old lives in a heartbeat. But life never was much of a cakewalk for them either way. Seeing spirits that nobody else was conscious of really did a number on your mental health.

Neither of them are entirely sure when this phenomena appeared before them, but its something they've been forced to cope with their entire lives. It definitely brought them closer, the shared trauma of seeing deceased loved ones and horribly disfigured spirits left them clinging to the comfort of another who understood their pain. 

It wasn't something easy to talk about, and it made it difficult to engage in social activities as there was always just one of them, lingering somewhere nearby. Without one another, they aren't sure what the hell they would have done. Anyone they brought it up to suggested therapy or pushed it aside as the cute active imagination of children. But it was anything but cute. To put it mildly, it was traumatic. But, over the many years of this curse, they’ve come to learn a few things.

For one,Tommy and Tubbo had learned to estimate the age of spirits, in relation to when they passed away. More recent movers had this haze around them, almost as being viewed through foggy glasses. They were there, but something was just offsetting in their physical form. The masked cat hoodie man had seemed to have left pretty recently as compared to some of the other guys still lingering around, maybe two or three years ago at most.

He appeared somewhat foggy, but you could still recognize the man’s main details, even his slightly ridiculous and unnecessary chains were visible. Why he felt most comfortable in those, they had no idea. Tommy believed they made the ghost look like a bitchboy, and dare he say, almost like a woman. It’s a wonder that he felt comfortable in any of it.Everything except for the sweatpants seemed really unpractical, like who even wears a mask? It just makes him look even more like a serial killer! There was no point, Tommy decided at that instant, and he decided that everytime he saw this man, he would be intolerant of his fashion taste. It was a crime to go around looking like that.

The short guy who seemed to be looking at the hoodie, picked it up, and apparently decided to buy it. Why he thought that this bright green and most likely blood stained hoodie would look good on him, he had no idea. Green certainly wasn't his color. Maybe it was the awesome spotlight him and Tubbo used, that must be it. There’s no other way anyone would buy something that ridiculous. Then again this is the same man buying a snow globe and wearing twinkle toes, so Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if this man’s fashion taste, if it could be called that, was something equally as ridiculous. 

The masked man had seemingly just noticed the shorter boy, and seemed to be holding his breath at the movement. Tommy assumed he must’ve been anchored to the hoodie, as that’s, as grim as it is, most likely why those suspiciously red stains are littering its surface. That's a.. A really harsh reminder of your death, Tubbo thought. You just wake up one day, realize you're dead and the only thing keeping you, refusing to let you move on to the next existence is the very material object that once meant so much to you. It’s not even like a formal or sentimental item, just a regular hoodie. He was just a normal guy who was walking around and breathing, probably not a care in the world. Now he can’t leave the presence of his hoodie , which he probably can’t even move, and he’s just stuck in Goodwill, watching everyone live their lives. He may have even seen stories of the customers, the regular shoppers, he watched them grow, even if it was just a few years. He watched these people’s lives like they were a movie, but he wasn’t able to turn it off, and he didn’t even get popcorn.

He’s had to watch as his very being was transported from store to store, unwanted, unloved. He was tossed back and forth between location, hoping that someday he’d be able to leave this fucking place. But, he understood. No rational person buys a used hoodie. Of all the things he could have been tethered to, of all the things that his very existance couldn’t live without, it had to be that dumb fucking hoodie. He’s been forced to roam the halls of Goodwill for so many years because of this hoodie, and he could now passionately say it was anything but his most precious material object. In fact, it was quite the opposite now. 

It could have once been a source of his joy, an entity from which he spent his every waking moment wearing. Ironic now how the moment he doesn't have a choice, he wants it to get the hell out of his sight. He hated holding vendettas against the past, as it was something he tended to look back and laugh upon, but this was beyond messed up.

But, through what circumstances he wasn't aware, the stars had aligned and it seemed as though, this guy may actually be considering buying his hoodie? He rubbed a finger across the inner lining, almost taken aback by the quality of fabric. The masked man found himself leaning forward eagerly, not often finding himself excited by much but for once feeling the hope build up within him. Was he, really going to get to leave? 

Tubbo noted the smirk creeping up the ghost’s face. Unknowingly that short man was saving this guys life, or.. Mabe just his sanity? You can't really save someone who’s already dead. The ghost wasn’t really being ‘saved’ from anything, except maybe thrift off-white shop shelves. He was still dead, it's not like he would just sit there until he rotted away. He’s literally already in that state. So, in some way could he double dead himself? Tubbo is aware of some realm beyond the spirit realm, but obviously has never been to it himself. Ghosts who achieve their ‘true purpose’ or whatever move on and pass to that place, which was basically their version of death. Technically ghosts could die again, if their tethered object is destroyed. Tubbo isn't entirely sure where destroyed souls vanish to, but he has a feeling it isnt a very nice place.

But what even determines who is tethered? Why do some people have to face the risk of their tether getting destroyed, and risk losing everything for all eternity? Is there a god who makes these decisions based on their views of what is an appropriate reason to be a ghost? Is this god biased? Can gods be biased? Does this prove the existence of a god?! Where do people go if they don’t turn into ghosts? Is it a religion thing, and it just changes based on what you believe? 

“Tubbo!” Tommy snapped in the boy’s face, violently tossing him back into reality. “Hey, you good big man? I can’t tell if those are eyes of daydreaming or an existential crisis. Maybe both?” Tommy said, lightly punching Tubbo’s shoulder. He could ponder ghost rules and the existence of god some other time. Right now he needed to make sure a man walked out of Goodwill with an obnoxious green hoodie, while being unknowingly followed by an e-boy ghost.

Meanwhile, while the pair was distracted, the masked man and his steed began making their way towards the register. Cat hoodie was talking the other man’s ear off, unknowing to him. He began ranting to the shorter boy, hands going flying in either direction as his lack of filter continued getting ahead of him. Tubbo noticed a nearby Bad making his way towards the man and the register, shooting the former a quick smile before interjecting into their conversation. A few short words filtered into his nearby vicinity, and at one point he could have sworn he caught him telling the former off for swearing. But overall, the encounter unfolded rather seamlessly. A nice bow wrapped atop a shimmering striped package, each layer of ribbon slowly being stripped off by the layer. It felt too easy, after so much struggling to find someone to buy it off them. 

But frankly, it didn’t matter how long it took for them to find catboy ghost a place to call home. What matters is they still pushed through and did it, and the poor guy seemed really excited at this prospect. A gentle orange glow illuminated the innards of the store as the sun began sinking slowly beneath the above head clouds, stringy puffs of cotton draped gently over the vibrant expanse of the sky. The employees had already begun to gather their belongings and glance anxiously at the door, waiting for that momentary release of the ticking clock’s tension. Those people seemed to pay them no mind, as the lot of them had already had many exchanges with Bad, and seeing his extremely harmless demeanor, trusted them. They had stayed here long enough to be trusted to not steal anything. Besides, they got them business, so truly, the true hero of the story is capitalism.

Tommy and Tubbo had elected to hang out in the parking lot with only one another’s company, leaving Bad and Skeppy to have a quick chat in the store. The best use of their time, the two had decided, was climbing a tree. It most likely had a few rotten branches, and most certainly was a safety hazard in some white mom’s survival guidebook. But they were the biggest of men, they decided, and no measly plant would intimidate them. The tree can’t even eat actual food, and then it acts all high and mighty? Like oh sure, it gives oxygen but there are plenty of other trees. Tommy, with the endorsement of Tubbo, had decided that this tree, this singular tree, was a disgrace, and Tommy would not stand for it. The only way to show this tree who was boss was to climb it, and that they did. 

In the distance, they could vaguely make out the sound of Bad’s shrill screaming, but made the executive decision that he was probably still alive. Not that it mattered to them. 

Footsteps spattered against the pavement with anger fissuring from the soles. Tommy and Tubbo glanced over the tree’s canopy, peeking over the line of twigs to get a better view of the chaos below. Bad came sprinting over, a heavy pant tainting his lips as he made his way towards their tree. Whether he was running for something or towards them, the two were unaware, but were really smug about it nonetheless. 

“TOMMY, TUBBO GET DOWN FROM THERE I NEED HELP.” Bad began shrieking, glancing behind him anxiously as the distant giggling of his friend taunted him. The former was creeping up behind him eerily slow, a future horror movie villain in the making. The two boys peered over the wall of leaves they had formed around their makeshift hideout among the trees, watching the scene unfold innocently. Tommy laughed maniacally at the sight.

“SKEPPY IS GOING TO KILL ME.” He began circling the tree, using its trunk as a barrier from his friend’s antics. “CUT IT OUT PLEASEE!” He clawed at the bark frantically like a cat, attempting to hoist himself up to where the boys were crouched.

He began scaling its expanse with ease, appearing at the top shortly after as he desperately attempted to escape his pursuer. He clutched Tommy desperately into a hug, using him almost as a shield. The boy gagged at the motion, shoving Bad away which almost resulted in him spattering to the floor. Bad was glancing at the poorly lit parking lot, watching its every corner for any detection of movement. He was gone.. He's gone. Bad realized with dread. Wait, he’s gone.

And just then, as he was about to sigh from relief, Skeppy materialized at his side. Bad squealed loudly, leaping backwards into Tubbo’s arms. The faint glow of a tear began trickling down his features, his heart leaping out of his chest in various pounding beats. He began to scold Skeppy, parting his lips as to tell the former off. He knew how easily Bad got scared. He knew that jumpscared freaked him out. Skeppy always did this, playfully terrorizing Bad and then acting all baby to win him over again. And Bad always fell for it. 

But he was promptly cut off. He couldn't get a genuine word to pass his lips. Skeppy had raised a single finger to his face, an action so menacing that Bad’s heart nearly stopped. He couldn't get out a word, couldn't scream, couldn’-

Boop.

Bad froze, dumbfounded. He looked between Skeppy, then his finger, then his face again as the former gave him a short wink. A short smirk crept on his lips as he glanced Bad’s exterior up and down.

“Did.. Did you just boop me?” 

“Yeah?” Skeppy shot back. “And what are you going to do about it, bald boy?” He teased playfully, laughing at the shock on Bad’s face.

Bad paused for a moment. What was he going to do? He couldn't let him just get away with scaring the living guts out of him constantly. He had to show he wasn't just some pushover. 

“I- I’ll… I will,, uhm” He began sputtering, shrinking at the skeptic gaze of Skeppy. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” He repeated snarkily, shutting his eyes and leaning back as if to bask in the warmth of the overwhelming power he held over the former. “I will.. I’ll-” Bad suddenly paused, taking one look at his friend. And then, it hit him. Bad smirked.

“I’ll show you.”


	4. Chapter Four

“Bad… Bad.” Skeppy facepalmed, his voice cutting in and out between his fits of laughter. “Bad you can't seriously tell me that was what you had planned,” His trademark laugh boomed through the hollow expanses of streets. Bad’s head hung low, and he began yanking at his hoodie strings to mask the heavy red blush creeping over his features. Skeppy did a little hop, turning on his heels and walking backwards to face his friend. He leaned forward slightly, hands bent behind his back as he peered at Bad’s face lovingly. He attempted to stop his giggling, but choked out a few more chuckles before the former finally looked up at him. “You can't seriously have believed that was going to work. You realize that I’m literally a ghost?” Skeppy snorted. A pout tainted Bad’s glistening cherry lips, and he jabbed the former sharply in the side, his finger going right through Skeppy’s form. “You’re a jerk.”

Bad laughed, rolling his eyes affectionately. “And you’re an idiot.” Skeppy replied quickly, a terse lips leaving his lips. “Wow, we’re perfect for each other.” Bad sarcastically remarked, chuckling lightly.

“Guys stop being gay for five minutes,” Tommy snickered, hopping shortly onto the solid concrete steps leading to their appartment. “We’re home.” He gripped at the shimmering golden doorknob, twisting at its exterior in one quick motion. Bad realized that he had severely lost track of time, and shot a quick glance around the street. To his surprise they were, in fact, before the door leading to their apartment, the slated 621 gleaming down upon them from its plaque.

Tommy swiftly unlocked the front door, backing up slightly as to pull it towards himself, and left it to lay ajar at the side. He took a confident step onto the carpet, the soles of his boots gently sinking ever so slightly into the textured flooring. He, however, faltered as a very familiar scent filled his nostrils. A scent that locked every joint, freezing him to the spot. His eyes widened, and for a moment he wasn't sure if he was imagining it, until his eyes caught the enormous fire engulfing the entire kitchen.

Smoke was billowing from the arch into the living room, an unwavering entity of the void that filtered endlessly into the living room. The house was an absolute disaster. Pots and papers littered the tables, along with piles of discarded jackets and forgotten projects. The lot were naturally very messy people, consisting of two feral children and their single mom, but they knew the apartment was not like this when they left. The final nail in the coffin was the fire engulfing a pot on the stove. The fire alarm had miraculously not gone off, alarming their neighbors in all directions, though that may have been because they hadn’t been bothered to replace it since moving in. 

Standing in the middle of the chaos, not even slightly phased by the fire, was the one and only Wilbur Soot.

“What the fuck.”

“I tried to make pasta but turned on the stove before I put in the water and pasta and then didn’t have enough strength to add the water, or turn off the stove. Please put out the fire, I am currently unable to.”

Out of all of the reasons the crew expected the house to be on fire, dry pasta was not one of them. The boys were shocked, until Bad rushed into action, putting out the fire. They didn’t have the money to cover the scorch marks on the wall, maybe a poster would suffice? Quite frankly, a fire was not very surprising for them to walk into. What was more surprising was that Wilbur was the cause.

They knew that he had been working on becoming more solid and interacting with the environment, but yesterday he had barely been able to lift a spoon. Why he had the sudden bright idea to try and cook pasta, which is a multi-step process, including things much heavier than a spoon, they had no idea. From the looks of it, Wilbur didn’t know either. 

Wilbur was a very odd case for a ghost, and even Tommy and Tubbo, who had basically worked with ghosts for 15 years, still weren’t quite sure why he was still there. Usually ghosts would pass on after a certain amount of time, unless they had a strong will to remain for some reason, such as Skeppy. The problem was, Wilbur was quite the opposite. He was physically unable to pass on, despite his efforts. 

Every tethered ghost had something trapping them to the human world, something preventing them from moving on. Whether it be a person, idea or desire that they weren’t able to do while still alive, the ghost is then tethered to that thing or idea until they complete their final wish. 

Wilbur’s final wish, or at least to the extent that they were aware of, was to be a world-renowned musician. He wanted people to hear his creations, and craved for just any ounce of recognition for his work. It had been his dream since he first picked up a guitar, as just a boy. Sadly, people can’t exactly listen to a ghost radio. He was kind of stuck. This put him in this weird grey area of having a desire that just couldn’t be fulfilled. 

It didn't do wonders for his mental state, if you can imagine that. Being dead, invisible to the entire world for all eternity, the only way to break that curse was by doing the one thing he couldn't do. Interacting with the real world as a ghost took a lot of energy, practice and dedication. Wilbur, had none of these things. 

He stuck through it, and tried his very hardest to break through those restraining chains. But with each failed attempt, he fell further and further into a state of helplessness. He couldn't even lift a spoon anymore, and his earlier attempt at pasta had been his latest attempt to push through despite those setbacks. 

But of course, he just had to set the house on fire. 

Y’know, as you do.

\- - - 

Meanwhile, George was frantically digging through every corner of his tiny living room, tossing objects of varying degrees of fragility aside. He knew for a fact he had put his phone on the table. He was beyond certain. So then..? He groaned in exhaustion, collapsing onto the couch as he tugged lightly at the hair messily framing his face.

George mumbled into his hands, groaning and pulling lighty at his cheeks. He leaned back into the cushions with one last exhausted sigh, his frail fingers trailing through his russet locks gently. With eyes shut, he absentmindedly went to reach for his phone, in its normal spot atop the cherry coffee table. Groaning at the unsurprising lack of sleek glass, he paused for a moment. OH, RIGHT. HE FUCKING LOST IT.

The slight rustling of his hair, one not caused by his own hands, and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. A gentle draft of air wafted over his features, and after a quick moment he opened his eyes. Expecting the billowing of his curtains or open front door causing the draft, he was instead surprised by neither of these occurring.

Instead, his FUCKING PHONE WAS ON THE TABLE.

George did a double take, rubbing at his eyes lightly and glancing at a nearby wall for a moment too long before glancing back at the coffee table. There, in all its glory resting atop the stark white table, was his phone, now aglow with the piercing dinging of a notification. He didn't move.

He instead, glowered at the scene before him. He glared at that phone, as if that would have changed something. He became so unnaturally angry at its existence, he entirely dismissed his confusion as to how it had gotten there. He was beyond certain it hadn't been there moments ago, but rather than questioning its earlier whereabouts he angrily snatched it up.

1 new message from samsung refrigerator

Gogyyyyyyyy you said you’d try and play minecraft, nows the time or Im breaking your short british boy kneecaps

Stop texting me solar system I’m trying to have a crisis.

You’ve literally left me on read for two weeks bitch IM WAITING >:(

DONT IGNORE ME IM GOING TO START SPAMMING HEY MAMAS

I’m blocking you

Aww georgie don't be like that   
…  
.  
Hey mamas  
Hey mamas  
Hey mamas  
Hey mamas

STOP TEXTING ME

Then play minecraft with me :)

I DONT EVEN HAVE IT DOWNLOADED  
Just give me like ten minutes okay jfc

I’ll be waiting   
BYE MAMAS ;)

George quickly shut off his phone with an annoyed grunt, rolling his eyes playfully. He tossed the device aside, dropping it gently atop the deeply cushioned sofa. He pranced off as it bounced harmlessly, crossing the cramped expanse of his living room towards the desktop. 

Why Nick wanted to play with him now, of all times, was beyond him- though it was certainly unconventional timing. Maybe he was recording a video? Though George assumed he must have plenty of other people to play with. He never did understand his friend’s strange obsession with this game. He collapsed into the office chair, powering the machine up with a simple tap. He watched in silence as the main screen appeared in his vision, a default photo of widespread fields covered in the gentle glow of a cloudless sky. He opened the main page, and with one last thought of regret, clicked the flashing download button

After a few short minutes, the downloading bar had reached 100%. The browser automatically closed, another window entirely popping onto his screen with a log-in page. A blocky field covered the expanse of background, a figure he assumed to be a sheep lounging the grounds. In the very center of the page, a whte box with a few empty slots presented itself. The topmost string of text read, as he expected, Create a Username.

Selecting a username was something he hadn't really thought about beforehand, he realized. He never put any thought into permanent usernames, as nobody knew of his twitter account regardless. George never had that singular name that he used on every platform, as he desperately hated commitment to a title. He would hate it in a week anyway, so he didn’t want a complex username. After a few minutes of experimentation with adjectives, he discovered that practically every variation of George was already taken. Time for some thinking.

He thought about a trait that often defined him. He didn't really consider himself with much fervor, he wasn't very kind or intelligent, or anything that may make up an admirable username. He was, as shown by today’s earlier event, extremely clumsy and forgetful. He got lost and lost his belongings constantly. Hm, that could work. Lost_George, GeorgeIsLost, WhereIsGeorge, 404George, none of them sounded right. He rapidly tapped at the backspace key, groaning lightly in frustration. His hands were brought up to his temple as he wracked his mind for something, any shitty concoction of words would do. George_404, GeorgeGotLost, GeorgeNotFound- His hand hovered before the backspace key for a moment longer than with the rest. While it wasn't the best thing he could have decided upon, it was certainly better than anything else he had come up with, and quite frankly George was too lazy to try and think of any more options. GeorgeNotFound it was.

The rest of the sign up was pretty easy, selecting a password, attaching an email, ect. He breezed through it and was on the homepage of Minecraft in five minutes flat. The home screen was pretty basic, a simple title screen, with the options of Singleplayer, Multiplayer, and Options. He wasn’t really sure what he had expected. George assumed he was going to play multiplayer, but when he was directed to an either further subpage he blanked. Time to summon Nick, he guessed. His phone buzzed in the distance, aglow with the buzzing of a notification. A notification from Nick no less, guess he wouldn’t have to text him first anyways.

Your 10 mins is up british boy  
Go to multiplayer and put 2189209198 into the bar.

Turning off his phone, George did as the text said and entered the string of numbers into the blank. He sat back a little as the page loaded, and within a few short seconds he was launched into the world. 

Glancing down into the bottom left corner, George noticed a notification pop into the in-game chat. Oh, Sapnap wrote something. ‘Finally omfg’ it read, and George rolled his eyes lightly. They then traveled across the large expanse of screen, before him a large string of grass blocks branching off into the distance. The sun, a simple flat colored yellow square sat in the center of it all. He moved his mouse, and his in-game character looked to the left, and then the right. He took in his surrounding area, seeing nothing save for the barren field he had spawned in the midst of. No Sapnap.

He clicked onto the text, expecting another message of some sorts but was surprised to see none. He quickly typed something in, and watched as it sent. ‘How do i move’ 

A few short seconds later, a reply appeared. ‘Figure it out’

George clicked his tongue, looking in all directions once more, and above him for good measure. He noticed a miniscule, almost undetectable opaque box in the distance, a form that only grew closer. The form loaded in before him, and after a few moments of staring he could read the box, which appeared to be a name tag. Sapnap, it read. There he is.

His figure came bursting into the clearing from a nearby forest, and sprinted over to where he stood, unmoving. Sapnap’s character wore an entirely monochrome outfit, with a simple headband to top it off. He began hopping up and down, crouching excitedly at George as he circled his friend. He almost seemed to be mocking him. Running around him, just in view as if flaunting off that he was actually good at gaming.

George eventually trails a finger against each and every key, quickly finding the ones that actually did stuff. As to why he has not assumed the keys would be W, A, S D he wasn't sure, but in a moment he began taking a few short, slowly paced steps in Sapnap’s direction.

‘Woah baby’s first steps.” Nick mocked in chat, to which George snarkily shot back, ‘Shut up at least I don't spend all day playing some dumb block game.’ ‘it's the spending all day in thrift stores looking for more snow globes for me’

George promptly clicked on Sapnap’s figure, smacking him. The former drew what appeared to be a sword, pointing it menacingly at George. 

‘You’re really just gonna demand my presence and then threaten me with a sword?’ George backed up slightly. ‘Oh yeah thats right wait’ Nick paused, his character suddenly becoming still, George guessed he had gotten up from his seat. ‘Where did you go’ he typed into chat, but by his lack of response George assumed he had stepped away from his computer.

Tapping his finger against the desk a few times, George stared blankly into the screen, awaiting his return. It wasn't much longer before he returned, verifying he was back with a short, ‘k im back’. George sat up a little, placing his hand back onto the mouse at the sudden movement. ‘So like the reason I just randomly wanted to play.’ Sapnap clarified, ‘i want you to meet my friend.’

‘??? sapnap??? friend??????’ ‘aww is georgie scared i'm replacing him?’ ‘no i'm just amazed that you managed to meet someone who can stand you.’

George chuckled lightly, tapping away at his keyboard with a loud chorus of satisfying clicks. Sapnap paused for a moment, building up tension like the dramatic ass he was. ‘And?’ George had to prompt, disheartened by his silence. Suddenly, a shimmering yellow font appeared into the bottom of the chat, a notice that the game sent to the duo out of nowhere. A notice that read,

KarlJacobs has joined the game.


	5. Chapter Five

George had been staring at his screen for the past 4 hours. He had.. Lost track of time to put it lightly. He let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes lightly. He had logged off a few minutes ago, and was idly sitting at his desk, not having the motivation to get up. It was nice to just relax and play withSapnap, even with the constant teasing. Karl seemed nice, if a little reclusive and shy. The two certainly had a close bond with the other.

The game itself he found pretty simple, though he could see its charm. He quite liked the wide variety of plants, albeit the few he could see were quite ugly hues. It was pretty easy to pick up and a great way to pass time. They had managed to get to a place known as the nether before he got off, as well as building a simple house and farm. He had decided the nether was officially the worst place on Earth, and Sapnap had just laughed, stating that “he would have fun against the Ender Dragon.” George had no idea what this dragon was and he wasn't too particularly eager to find out. Sapnap on the other hand was very adamant on getting to that point in the game, and even the tentative Karl seemed to take Nick’s side. Apparently causing him repetitive death and mass trauma was their idea of humor.

He heard a notification from his phone, a piercing ding that sounded right where he had left it, to the right of him. He outstretched his arm, blindly patting at the desk where he had heard it. Nothing. He tapped at the surface, feeling around until the realization hit him that all he felt was air. He knew for a fact that it was just there, he hadn’t gotten up once to move it and the loud, piercing notification had just come from beside him. 

When suddenly, another loud dinging could be heard. Though this time, certainly not beside him. He glanced behind him, where the noise had come from, the vibration echoing from the distant kitchen. The… the kitchen. He pushed his office chair aside, strolling into the room. Confusion danced over his features as he glanced across the tiled expanse, seeking the shimmer of his opaque screen against the harsh yellow light. Another notification sounded. From.. above him. He glanced up.

It was on top of the fridge. 

George could not reach the top of the fridge. 

“What the fuck.”

The first time the phone had mysteriously moved had been bearable. He had no idea how it had, but it would have made sense for him just to forget where he placed it. This time, it seemed the universe was just taunting him. George hadn’t even been in the kitchen once today, and he knew he had it next to him when he started playing. He was literally texting Nick as he sat down, and yet there was no phone. 

George was torn between not caring as he normally would or freaking the fuck out. Teleporting phones were not on his bingo card for weird things to happen. On the other hand, however, ghosts were. While he was not ready to think about the possibility of him being haunted by a ghost who only strives to slightly inconvenience people, the thought had certainly crossed his mind. He was not a religious man, and most definitely did not mess around with the supernatural. He hadn’t even watched the show, despite Sapnap’s constant badgering for him to watch it. Why Sapnap thought it was an amazing show, George wasn’t sure. It seemed incredibly stupid, and George was a strong believer in the fact that shows should not have fifteen seasons.

No matter the circumstances, which George did not want to think about, because that would lead to his entire belief system crashing down, he still had no way to get his phone off the fridge without a ladder. He also did not own a ladder. He eventually came to the realization that he would have to climb on the counter if he wanted to retrieve his phone. A sigh heaved from his lips, and he furrowed his brows tensely. It was only 3pm and he was already tired of this shit.

He cracked his knuckles dutily, glancing the ominously looming fridge up and down once more. It was so tall…. and ominous. He reached for the surface of the counter angrily, gripping at the granite with a heavy exhale. “Whatever bitch moved my phone, I would appreciate it if you got your ass down here and helped me.” He hissed jokingly beneath his breath. 

As expected, yelling into the empty void did nothing as he turned, ready to hoist himself to its peak. He was mentally preparing himself, when suddenly- He froze. A shiver crawled up his spine, one that he yelped at lightly as he shook the feeling from his presence. He could’ve sworn he heard a laugh, an ethereal giggling echoing between the walls. The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. A soft laugh that soon melted into a wheezing, almost like that of a tea kettle. It surrounded him, the noise wafting between the bursts of air surrounding him. He stepped back from the counter out of shock, his arms hovering before him in some unmoving attempt to investigate.

He heard shuffling atop the fridge, a noise that his gaze promptly traveled to. And in that moment, right before his very eyes, the phone began rising. The top was rising slowly, the device propping itself up on nothing. It balanced perfectly on its own, the shimmering screen protector seeming to stare into George’s horrified face.

It stood still for a few seconds, unmoving, unaffected by that gravity thing that most phones were affected by. It was as if some invisible hand were propping it up, holding the phone to a point. The device then began teetering dangerously close to the edge, and time began to slow to a crawl as it was effortlessly hoisted into the air. It hovered before him in an extravagant show of air, tilting over the frontmost edge of the fridge.

All at once, his phone came crashing down to the floor. It threatened at collapsing on his face, the device pummeling quickly before him. George’s expression had never changed from one of frustration to one of panic as quickly as it just did. He dived across the floor in vain, flinching heavily as he knew that he wouldn’t be able to reach it. The wood floor protested against this sudden action, burning against his bare arms. His hand was outstretched and palms opened in an attempt to guard his face, though still seemingly miles away from the phone rushing towards the ground.

And once again, just as suddenly as it had started falling, the falling projectile froze midair, millimeters away from the ground. George was on his ass, his arms outstretched towards the phone as to shield his face, and the phone was now hovering just before him. Right, in front of his face. The universe didn't even attempt to patch itself up either, it just fucking floated there. Taunting him. What… the hell.

Everything that had happened in the past minute was physically impossible. None.. none of this- Gravity didn’t just start and stop working randomly, the walls did not laugh, and his phone most certainly could not teleport, at least as far as he was aware. He had to be dreaming, yeah yeah. Dreaming.

When all too suddenly, gravity’s hold on the device diminished. It came crashing down on George’s face in one swift motion, the rock hard phone clamoring into his grips. He grasped at the phone, fumbling with it in his hands as the force jostled it between his fingers. It finally clattered to the floor, a hollow echo throughout the house as it rattled against the sleek wooden floorings.

He stared at the checkered blue phone case against the harsh light of the overhead lamp fixtures. George picked it up delicately, barely gripping to its surface for fear it may veer across the room once more. The glass wasn’t even smudged, much less cracked, but the bottom of the phone was covered in dust. Dust from the top of the fridge, dust that was very much real, that he could feel. Dust that was too realistic to be a dream. His finger swiped over the spot, the dark grey substance collecting at the tip of his finger. His phone just surpassed reality, and he’s standing there gawking at a blank screen, only illuminated by two notifications. Surprisingly, one was a text from Bad, the other, much less surprising notification, was from Sapnap, again. 

Of course the logical course of action would be to maybe get a glass of water and calm himself, reflect back on the events. Maybe call an exorcist or run for the hills. But George was not a logical person, and without moving from his failed dive for the phone on the floor, he called Sapnap, not even bothering to check the text from Bad.

Sapnap almost immediately picked up, almost like he was waiting for a call. That, or the much more likely option, he was already on Discord. “Hello?” Nick picked up, his fingers clacking away at his smooth keycaps. “Sapnap..” George began trailing off, unsure how to word his next statement. 

“Sapnap I think my apartment is haunted.”

. . .  
Nick’s fingers stopped moving abruptly, and the clacking of his keyboard halted through his speaker. There was a moment of silence stretching between the pair, followed by a quiet laughing.

“What?” Sapnap began, “ I thought you didn’t believe in this shit? Why do you think this exactly?” It almost sounded as if he was stifling laughter, a noise that George huffed at. 

“My phone floated. It- bear with me here- deadass teleported on top of the fridge, fell off, and floated midair off the ground before falling.” George paused for a minute. “I know you have that look on your face right now, the one when I say stupid shit, but I swear to you I am not lying.””

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

“Bitch, my phone was floating. It was on the fridge. I can't even reach that high without a ladder. How exactly am I supposed to take a picture? I was a bit preoccupied with the PHYSICS DEFYING PHONE!” George shrieked into the microphone, rolling onto his back. 

“Okay, and when was the last time you slept?” Nick retorted with a snort. “Literally your entire deal is that you think supernatural occurrences are bogus, and now you suddenly have a change of heart because a ghost wanted a selfie? Why would there even be a supposed ‘ghost’ trying to contact you?” He paused. “You’re not the most, um.. welcoming or helpful fellow I know.”

“You know like three people.”

“Yes, and you are at the bottom of the list ranked by kindness. Also, I know at least four people, which is about twice the amount you know. Because surprisingly, I don’t use snowglobes to cope with my crippling depression, and I actually talk to people, because I’m not afraid of commitment.”

“Well damn I was already having a crisis you didn't have to judge my entire life to get a rise out of me.” He squealed, faking at a crack in his voice. George rolled his eyes lightly, smiling into the nook of his palm. 

“Anyway, I literally called you because you're the ghost guy? You’re quite literally the only person who believes in this psycho shit. Way to crush all my hopes and dreams holy shit.” George feigned pain in his tone dramatically 

“I never said you aren’t dealing with a ghost, I’m saying that the likelihood of you being haunted is extremely slim. What with me being the ‘ghost guy’ and all that I have a decent amount of experience with these kinds of things. You haven’t properly slept in days, much less gone out in the world for opportunities to be haunted. Plus you would be the most boring haunt.”

“So I’m not haunted?” George rolled his eyes. “You could’ve just said that, Sherlock Holmes.”  
“I mean technically you couuuuld be haunted, but you’re colorblind. You can’t even tell me what color my shirt is, much less if there’s a ghost in your presence, especially one that is like green. You’re basically fucking blind.” 

“At least I don’t have school tomorrow. Isn’t it your bedtime?”

“It’s the dropping out of programming school because you didn’t have the motivation for me.” Nick retorted slyly, George could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“It’s the living in the country known for school shootings for me.”

“It’s the walking on the pavement and calling cookies biscuits for me.” Sapnap mimed a horrible British accent, mumbling a ‘chewsday’ under his breath.

“Its the watching all fifteen seasons of Supernatural, only to get queer-baited for me.”

“Not in the Spanish dub, you uneducated scum. I’ll have you know it was a beautiful love confession. How do you even know that? You’ve watched like two episodes and sat on your phone the entire time. You don't even know who Castiel is, do you? Do you, huh?” 

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t on Tumblr. Castiel was like god, right? The guy who gives prophecies.” 

Nick bursted into over-exaggerated laughter. “NO YOU DUMB BITCH- First off god’s name was Chuck, and he was a hippie until like season 15 but lets not really get into that. Also he doesn't tell prophecies, he just knows what’s going to happen in his dreams and writes novels about the future. And then Kevin, this like exchange student kid, he spreads the word of God. With his stone plaque and stuff. Castiel is an angel who possessed the body of this absolute chad, but it was totally consensual. Consent is sexy. But anyway he’s really shit at being an angel. He’s anything but God. I thought you said you use Tumblr? Get it right.” He groaned, as if George was meant to know these things.

“Nick. I do not care about your hippie fanfic-writing God. How does this relate to my spooky not ghost ghost haunting. Am I haunted or not, genius? You’re the ghost guy, ghost guy. How can you memorize the entirety of a show that was popular in 2015, but not tell me if I’m haunted.”

“The final answer to your question is that you need to sleep. You’re not haunted by a ghost that possesses your phone to defy gravity. It was probably some wacky surreal dream or something. You probably hit your head or something. Can I leave now? I want to get rye bread, strawberry jam, peanut almond mix sandwiches. Preferably toasted.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to continue ranting about your demon fanfiction. Go right ahead, I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting.” George began sarcastically apologizing. 

“Fine, I will.” He grumbled, fumbling with his own phone on the other end of the line. “Just, let me know if the ghost kills you or something. Bye.” Nick had already hung up the phone before George had the chance to retort another word, catching the hint of hysterical laughter on the other end of the line before the connection severed. 

George huffed lightly, repeating his farewell to the empty room. His voice echoed through the hollow walls, his voice bouncing off the thickly blanketed popcorn ceilings. He laid back slightly on the floor, feeling the cool, sleek texture of the floor beneath his balled palms. A finger traced along the rim of his screen, and in one swift motion he flicked down the notification center. 

One new message from Bad.

He had gotten the man’s number during their previous encounter at the bakery, as he had insisted that George left with it. It felt strange, having the contact of someone so strange, and someone he knew so little about, but it was almost comforting to just have it in his contacts. He told him to text if he ever needed anything, as weird as that was.

But now, he was the one texting George. He swiftly opened the chat, the smooth, round edged chat boxes popping into his view. The message was sent about thirty minutes ago, during the whole cursed phone fiasco.

Hey, I know you don’t really know me that well, but like I have to go out of town for a few days tomorrow. You’re the only person I can ask on such short notice, and was wondering if you were just able to stay over at my house for that time to make sure that Tommy and Tubbo are okay?  
Oh yeah also, I can pay you whatever you ask, money isn't an issue and it's only for one night, but it would be a huge help. I’m so sorry this is so short notice…!

um,, i mean..  
y’know what, sure thats fine. im not doing anything anyways.  
send me the details when you can ^

What had George just signed up for? He had talked to these kids like once and now he was babysitting them, because the thriftshop prophet asked? George doesn’t know the first thing about kids, or even like how to cook. He knew how to make grocery brand spaghetti and that's about it. Where is he even supposed to sleep? The couch?

Anything to make some fast cash, he supposed. It was only one night anyway, and he ahd babysat before. It shouldn’t be that difficult, hell especially with teenagers. They’d just sit on their phones in their rooms all day. Not that he wouldn't be doing the same, he would just be in some stranger’s living room… with rambunctious children that he doesn't know… miles from his own house. Sounds like fun when he put it into perspective like that.

Thank you so much!! OKay give me just a sec  
Address is 621 Mawbery Grove. It’s just a block from the goodwill so hopefully that's convenient for you. I have to leave at three, but you can come anytime tonight. They’ll survive for an hour or two if you can't make it over right away!

nope nope i should be able to! lemme pack some stuff up, but i can make it before three no problem :)

You’re a saint thank you so much qwq   
This seriously means a lot, you’re a life saver.

yeah yeah dont worry bout it! just dont forget about the cash and we all good. ;)

Checking the time swiftly, George noted that he needed to leave in about an hour if he wanted to get there before the allotted time. He wasn’t quite sure what to pack, and so he resigned to throwing what he deemed as essentials into a duffel bag. These essentials included a bag of chips, a phone charger, toothbrush and toothpaste, a change of clothes, and the piss colored hoodie, specifically to spite Sapnap.

For once in his life, his phone had not magically moved, and it was right where he left it. Truly a miracle. Now to find his car keys, which he knew for a fact he placed on his counter. George double backed into the kitchen to grab them, glancing the counter up and down an-

Oh, what a shocker. They were missing.

His keys were in fact not there, and quite frankly George was too done with this shit to try and find them. He did not care if it was 100 degrees, if he did not find his keys in the next minute, he was making the trek by foot. Unsurprisingly, he did not find his keys in the next minute.

“Fuck.”

He sighed for the umpteempth time today out of frustration, untying his shoes and promptly pulling them over his feet. He pulled on the first sneak without much effort, turning to grab his right shoe in the same motion. He untied it hastily, gripping the seams and pulling it up the expanse of his feets harshly. Not a good idea on his part, clearly. It was at this time that he felt an extremely sharp pain in his foot, pain blossoming across the heel of his foot. With a hiss he tossed the sneaker across the hall, wincing and cradling his foot gently. He felt like he had just been stabbed, what the fuck was that? 

He soon realized that he in fact had been stabbed. By his keys, which were in his shoes, which he knew for a fact, he did not put there. 

He promptly sent a birdie to whatever entity was messing with his shit, and turned to the more urgent matter at hand - the small gash on his foot. A bead of blood dripped over the curve of his sole, the scarlet red liquid dropping onto his pristine sneakers with an anguished noise leaving George’s lips. His brilliant idea was to patch up his battle wound with a Hello Kitty bandaid. It looked very manly, and he would wear it with pride. He had won this battle. The ghost had tried and failed to inconvenience George, it had only made him more stylish. On top of that, he now had proof to show Sapnap. Who would willingly stab their foot with a pair of keys? Not George, that’s who.

With a triumphant smirk, and a clenched fist, he exited his flat. If his life was going to be miserable because of supernatural entities, George was simply going to spite them. If he was stuck with this shit, he was at least going to make it interesting. Maybe he should get a ouija board. On second thought, he should probably not tempt fate anymore. But the idea of being haunted amused him more than scared him, and he was frankly too tired to care.

Driving to their flat was a fairly easy feat, only taking about 10 minutes. There was little traffic, and George had opted to turn on the radio to fill the empty silence. It was a station he picked at random, a widely used pop station used for looping the same upbeat 20 songs all day.

The car had always been a comfort for George. A getaway from the usual chaos of his life. Something about rolling down the windows, blaring music until your ears rang and watching the sun dip beneath the clouds was such a euphoric feeling. He had always been the type to look too deploy into lyrics, or let certain songs hit so different. George cried to dramatic beat drops, overwhelmed by emotion in the slightest hint of melancholy in words. 

Music was such a masterpiece to him, an overwhelming symphony that he craved more of. That he couldn't seem to get enough of. There's a reason he always had headphones in. So you could tell he was a little disappointed when the only songs to surface were meaningless mashes of pop. No thought behind the madness, no reason to the arrangement of words and analogies. A misfigured concoction of nothingness. Electric guitars and pitched voices to alleviate the tensions, make their troublesome thoughts into something that held so much more meaning. Or at the very least, attempt to do that very thing. To be something. All anybody wants in life is to be something, make others believe you're worth more than you really are. 

To be known. 

The radio started up, a cacophony of autotune and subpar, meaningless strings of words bleeding into his ears. George paid little attention to the names flashing across the screen, Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Brendon Urie, Cardi B, worthless names that held no meaning to him. Empty words that only held power over others because they believed it did. 

Another song concluded harshly, drums and electric guitars crashing to a halt as the announcer’s unamused voice suddenly appeared, another song quickly filling the space behind it. He was expecting another rerun of High Hopes, another remake of Taylor Swift’s music or some new one-hit wonder to fill the expanse of his car. But.. this one was different.

The slow, steady paced beat immediately caught him off guard. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, this song being the exact shade of melancholy backseat driving he had been seeking while also bearing the upbeat nature the others bore. He glanced at the radio, words flashing over a screen all too quickly for his mind to comprehend. A Maker of My Time, performed by The Paper Kites.

The lyrics passed through his ears, filling him with an indescribable feeling. The feeling you get when you connect, truly connect to a song. That feeling you get deep in your bones, one that rattles through your skull, leaves you yearning for more. It’s like honey to his ears, a sickly sweet combination of feeling and lyrics, something that he could listen to all day, that he couldn’t get enough of. It was beautiful, but if he listened to it too much he feared it would melt away, become just another song, of the millions. It was an endless loop, something that he couldn’t get enough of. Somehow, in his heart, he knew the lyrics. He didn’t know how, but he didn’t question it. It just made sense.

Held up here, it's a silent fear  
And this space don't take my mind

The moment was serene, and it was almost as if he was on autopilot, driving through the London streets, but he paid no mind. Muscle memory took over, safely driving him. It was a moment he didn’t want to end, one that he could live in for eternity. Pure bliss. He sang along to the words. He wasn’t even phased when another voice joined in. Why shouldn’t it? 

The voice was soft, the words seemingly rolling off the tongue. It was.. familiar. Something was so comforting about this voice that it resonated so deeply within him. As though flies to honey, a sickly sweet trap, one he knew he should avoid, something that would lead to the death of him, but he couldn’t. It was like the forbidden fruit, temptations whispering in his ears, waiting for him to give in. He knew he should ignore it, but he needed more, the voice was his Achilles heel. His mind was as though Judas, betraying his rational thoughts for a small amount of gold, the light at the end of the tunnel. 

I can’t see when I filled with sleep  
It’s a golden dream of mine

He basked in the voices presence, the hint of a smiling dripping over his features. Any worries, any anger, any frustration he quickly forgot, his mind clearing. All he knew was that this, this was right. Whatever magic, whatever blissful ignorance had overcome him, it was beautiful. A symphony so overwhelming, his every sense bursting into overdrive each passing second. Every detail of the night, the voice, his breathing, it was all suddenly so vivid. He was so aware, he could hear every single note, he could feel his hair standing on edge. It was a sensation he had never felt, so foreign and new, but so wonderful, so tantalizing. What he would give to live like this. To have every moment of life be as vivid, as joy-filled as this one. 

I still stir, such a war of words

His emotions, his thoughts, they were so loud, but so far away. He was so aware but so ignorant, it was like a one way mirror, but he was both the observer, and the one gazing at his own reflection. A beautiful mix, one that he could drift in. Everything was so sharp, so pristine, but he still had on rose colored glasses. Everything was so magical, as if he were in a dream. It was as if he was in a foggy haze, but he knew everything beyond the fog. The fog was neither scary or threatening, it was instead welcoming. He felt everything with such emotion, such grandeur. It truly was supernatural. Sapnap was right, it was real, whatever being was doing this, George knew it couldn’t have been human. It was the same as the laugh, an ethereal presence, as if coming from everywhere and nowhere. A mystery that could never be solved, an enigma, something that made his mind turn, searching for answers that didn’t exist. His mind tried to solve questions, queries that even the greats couldn’t.

Socrates, Aristotle, George suddenly understood them, truly understood them. There was something so memorable, so whimsical in this moment, in thinking about the possibilities, in finding answers others couldn’t, in purely listening to the universe, thinking. Being so present in the moment, so alive, so mindful of everything. He could live in this moment, in this fantasy, his oasis. 

The last note of the song faded out of his ears, his sense slowly becoming more aware of his current situation. The voice had faded out, his mind no longer in a labyrinth of thoughts and feelings. Whatever he had just felt, every trace of it vanished, leaving him with an empty feeling. The one of yearning for something unattainable, he wanted so badly to replicate it, to relive that moment. Like Icarus, he wanted to fly, to relive that moment, but he knew what that led to. It leads to pain, to burning, to loss. His wings would melt, his freedom, his salvation would be his demise. The very thing he craved, the thing he wanted so desperately in life, it was just out of his reach. The only way to obtain it would be to leap, but he was chained to the ground. He was trapped, unable to escape these chains, unable to find the key.

The next song on the radio was meaningless, it held no value to George. It didn’t resonate like the other. George had to accept that the blissful ignorance, the warmth in his chest, it was gone for now. He couldn’t force, couldn’t brew it up in a lab, couldn’t wave a wand and make it appear. It wasn’t artificial, it was real, it was like a living breathing beast, one that you could not tame. It was exotic and alluring, but dangerous and unpredictable. It was something you couldn’t control, it would do as it pleased.

George blinked, clearing the last thoughts from his head. He was there anyway. He was suddenly filled with an uneasy feeling, the one you get before you jump into a dark pool. The feeling before making a big decision, one that will change your life. But George had no idea why he had this feeling, this uneasiness, as if he were to embark on an adventure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //TRIGGER WARNINGS//  
> Mentions of blood, Violence, Implied Abuse, Mentions of Death
> 
> Please comment if you find anymore that we missed :)

A ring at the doorbell alerted the apartment’s occupants of a visitor. Tubbo hopped alertly from his seat, with Tommy flanking him anxiously. The two exchanged a glance as Tubbo reached for his pack, gripping the flank of his bat gently if need be. They were not expecting anyone. Who the fuck was at the door? The ringing persisted, and it was Tommy who eventually opened the door, with a swift nod from his former. They prepared themselves, Tommy twisting at the chilled golden knob, and threw it open inward with a swift determination and jumped back, as if giving Tubbo space to knock the motehrfucker out if need be.

The man who appeared at the door was MUCH less underwhelming than they had been expecting. Almost pathetic actually, since they had been expecting the cops. Nobody visited them, unless it was with ill intent, so naturally they were on edge. George, the short king himself, was not who they expected to be standing at their doorstep. They had much less expected him to be clutching a stuffed duffle bag and a ghost trailing behind him. On George’s behalf though, they doubted he knew about the ghost part.

Bad had rushed to the door, brushing passed the boys, and welcomed George with a bright smile. Unlike Tommy and Tubbo, the man seemed to know exactly why George was here, and was more than happy to show him inside. There was a knowing glance shared between the two children, who then promptly glanced over Bad’s suitcase with dreadful deadpan. Tommy glanced at Tubbo first, who then returned the sentiment as they gazed deeply into the others eyes. In a moment of clarity the two pieced together why Bad had been packing all of his belongings, why George had appeared at their door on a seemingly average Tuesday afternoon. Then they groaned in unison. “Fuck.”

“Alright, alright watch the langu-,” Bad began, swiftly being cut off by the distressed groaning of the two. “Bad, you left us with a babysitter?” Tommy accused, jabbing a finger in his direction, Tubbo feigning offense. “What the fuck.” He shrieked promptly, followed up by a loud sterning. “LANGUAGE!” Bad shrieked.

He was leaving for a day or two, and that meant that they needed a ‘babysitter.’ In the end they were still kids, even if they acted more mature than some adults. They couldn’t even drive, much less cook for themselves, and god knows Wilbur can’t, and Skeppy was obviously going with Bad, not that he could cook either. They were kinda fucked.

“Hello George! Come in, come in! How are you? I’m so glad you could come over on such short notice, you’re a lifesaver. I’m sorry I can’t spend longer and stuff, but I really need to go! Um, pasta is in the pantry, there’s a 50$ on the counter, and uh, that's it I think! Thanks again!”

George seemed slightly dazed by the quick greetings and departure of the man. Bad truly was a personality, how anyone could deal with his cheeriness and energy all the time, he had no idea. He was finally ushered in by Tommy, who seemed less than happy for him to be here. Tommy’s welcoming remark to him was, “Get in bitch. You’re wasting the AC.” George felt ever so welcomed. 

The apartment was a mess, as he stepped inside, spare jackets and books scattered around. The layout itself was pretty standard for an apartment, a simple kitchen, living room, and a hallway that seemingly led to the bedrooms and a bathroom. George noticed that it actually seemed a bit big for three people, wondering just how much money Bad actually made. His thoughts were interrupted by Tommy, who seemed extremely annoyed at his presence.

"Okay small man, we don't know why Bad likes you, but if you try ANYTHING at all, remember that me and Tubbo have much less control than Bad, also a metal bat, also a way to hide body.”

“What-”

George was suddenly much more wary of the children in front of him, sensing that these were in fact not empty threats. They were ready to knock him out as soon as the doorbell rang, that was not a good sign. Why did they even have a bat prepared for this? Who the fuck have they needed to beat up at their doorstep? Holy shit are they criminals? Was he going to get jumped by fifteen year olds? That wouldn’t be fun on a tombstone, ‘Died from two angry children.’ Why the fuck did he agree to this?

The couch they were sitting on was extremely dirty, stains littering the cover. Pillows and jackets were long forgotten, discarded on edges of the couch and tucked between pillows. The coffee table was littered with diet coke cans and monster munch bags. The house was truly a mess, and George highly doubted they had cleaned the place in a few months, dare he say years. It did make sense though, teenage boys were extremely messy, and from the looks of it, the only supervision they had was Bad. The amount of trash looked like it could build a mansion for racoons, and any other creatures that wanted some. 

George awkwardly placed the ragged duffel on the coffee table, running his fingers along the fabric tensely. The two were staring very intensely at him. Tommy swiftly gripped onto the bat, still encased in Tubbo’s tight palm. He confiscated the weapon and slipped it into his own backpack, which was resting by the kitchen table. Tubbo remained motionless.

His russet gaze traveled over George’s form, and the former squirmed under his gaze. He ran his fingers along the ragged couch, pawing at the patchy fabric in discomfort. “When’s the last time you cleaned this place?” He mumbled to himself, recoiling his arm tentatively.

He hadn’t expected a response.

Tommy poked his head back into the room, overhearing the inquiry and replying with a sarcastic beam dripping over his features. 

“Well Bad tidies up every now and then but I’d say the last time we all cleaned together was .. was.. Hm,” He hummed a bit, gaze traveling upwards “Probably January.”

George was what people called a neat freak, and even slight messes could send him into a frenzy on a bad day. He was never really sure why, but he assumed it was just something he picked up from his mother, who like him, had zero tolerance for messes. It often gave a tad bit of anxiety when things were unclean, and often caused a bout of anger if the mess was extremely bad. The house he was currently in was definitely not a fun environment, especially if one was stuck in an extremely dirty house with two rude teenage boys who act like their gods. He wasn’t able to control himself as everything from the day piled up, and he yelled at the boys.

“You haven’t cleaned this place in a… year?! How can you even breathe in this filth? It smells like something died! This is ridiculous, you’re so disgusting! The amount of bugs in here must be absurd, y’all are so weird and dirty. Not to mention the fact that everyone but Bad, has been extremely rude to me, and you almost knocked me out with a bat!”

The boys flinched back at George’s outburst, Tommy moving slightly in front of Tubbo, ready to fight. 

“Oh trust me, it does not smell like anything died!”

“We know what that smells like, don't we Tubbo? We’re such big men, we’ve seen loads of death, haven’t we!”

The boys burst out laughing, as if it were some inside joke between the two, as if they hadn’t just flinched over George raising his voice. They acted as if death was some joke, and that was the last straw for George. If it had been any other day, George would’ve noticed how Tubbo’s breathing got heavier at the loud noise, the steely glint in Tommy’s eyes, ready to protect them. He would’ve seen the signs to stop yelling, but it wasn’t any other day, in fact it had been an extremely shit day, and George had finally snapped.

“How have you ever had experience with death? The most you’ve seen die is probably like your grades or pet goldfish! Your over exaggerated ‘death’ nonsense is such bullshit!” He shot back, almost sarcastically at first before he began spiraling. “Has it ever occured to you that some people have actually gone through the death of loved ones, or almost dying themselves? It’s not something to just toss around so lightly!”

He ranted, venom lacing his tongue as he continued. He hadn’t just flat out ranted in a while, and couldn’t hold back the bitter words that began leaving his lips. “I’ve had a shit day today, and literally everything has gone wrong, so can you both just act like normal fucking people for once? I came here to watch you on an hours notice, after having little to no sleep! Not to mention the fact that I’m hearing voices and that my phone has literally teleported and no one will believe me. Then you try and act like you’re some edgelord who has a mysterious past of death and betrayal? Not even stopping to think that the person in front of you may have firsthand experience? Wake up, this isn’t a fantasy, it’s real life!”

Tommy clenched his fists, immediately shooting back an agitated response on behalf of himself and Tubbo. “Shut up, you don’t know anything about us! We’ve seen worse things than you can ever imagine. You think you can barge in here and act like you live here, criticize how we live, and act like you're the one who has the worst life? If you haven’t noticed, Bad is the only person we have taking care of us dipshit! You really think that cleaning is our concern? Bad contacted you, a guy he’s known for like an hour, not even, to take care of us while he’s out! You think a stable person would do that? You think you were our first option?” Tommy spat. 

“You’re just teenagers, that think they have it harder than it is.” George shot back, jabbing a finger at Tommy, who shrunk away defensively. “You think you’re in some fantasy, and then the second someone calls you out on your bullshit, they’re the bad guy? What are you going to do once you realize that you can’t just cuss everything out?”

“I’ve known you guys for an hour and every single thing you guys have done has somehow made my day worse! You just insult people and act like you're some self-righteous guy, yet you’re immediately mad at me for just trying to be a good person and help someone out, and you just yell and yell! Well, here’s your fucking karma Tommy! Does it feel good to have someone yelling back at you for once? Is it just like you imagined? Well congratulations, you’ve done it! I hope you're proud.”

He inhaled shakily, teeth clinging to his lower lip as he attempted to restrain himself, when finally it all crashed upon him at once. A wave he thrashed against as it tossed him to sea, shaking every voice of reason from his mind. “I didn’t watch my parents die in front of me for you to fucking mock me!” He spat, and the room went still.

Tears welled up in both the boys eyes, hot, angry tears. The world seemed to slow as Tommy’s exposed palm formed into a fist, one of an experienced fighter. He knew what he was doing, he knew where to aim, how to strike. The only thing stopping him was Tubbo.

Tubbo’s belief in him, the belief that Tommy was better than this. But in that moment, the only thing on Tommy’s mind was that George was a threat. Tommy didn’t give a fuck about what Tubbo would think of him.

Bare knuckles collided with George’s nose, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the room. George was right. Tommy was proud of himself, he had never been the one to throw the first punch, but now he was. He was just empty insults, he was an actual threat, he wasn’t just the kid who’s a bitch anymore. He was someone who acted on his words, fuck karma, and in Tommy’s mind, this feeling of power, it felt good. Blood cascaded down George’s face, his nose bent harshly as he cried out in pain. Tubbo’s eyes widened in horror, but Tommy, he still didn’t care. He was the powerful one now, and all George could do is watch as the teen yelled to his face.

“Stop acting like your the fucking victim here, cus’ you’re not!” Tommy strained, tears pooling from his glistening eyes. They only narrowed further. “Like you said, we’re fucking fifteen, we can’t even drive, and you’re going to tell us to stop acting like ‘children?!’ You’re the adult here, so act like it! We’ve needed to be adults our entire life, we just want to act like normal sarcastic and dumb teenagers! Yet the second you walk in here you act like your our mom and tell us to be mature! We’ve barely even talked to you for thirty minutes, and now you’re going to act like you know us?” Tommy scoffed.

“This isn’t even any of your business, stop trying to make yourself the hero! You think you’re the hero whose going to save these poor innocent kids from their stupid ways and teach them that we can’t see the world through rose colored glasses, be our mentor? Newsflash, you fucking aren’t! If anything you’re the antagonist of this story, the guy no one likes in the movie! The one that intrudes and screws everything up, the Mother Gothel, the evil stepmom, you’re just like them! You go into other people’s lives acting like you know everything and that you’re going to be the knight in shining armor, but clearly your helmets fucking blinding you! We don’t need saving from some imaginary threat that you think you can beat.”

He continued nearing George, heat pooling from his presence. His arms extended once more as he leaned towards the boy. “We already saved ourselves,” Tommy countered. “so stop trying to mess it back up!” And then he shoved him.

Tubbo had never seen Tommy so mad. Sure he would throw insults at people, provoke them for fun, but there was never such extreme spite behind them. He was like a different person, running only on adrenaline and pure fury. Tubbo knew Tommy was trying to protect him, to protect what they had. But what he was doing, it wasn’t right, and Tubbo was the only one Tommy would listen to. Tubbo knew that Tommy was besides himself, not fully in control, but it didn’t matter. This was too far. He never had thrown the first punch, only had followed up. But he had just punched a man, and he was grinning. Like a cat trying to show their owner their newest kill, Tommy was happy with himself, he was proud.

“Tommy, calm down!” Tubbo stepped sharply in between the two. “This isn’t worth your time. George is being an arsehole, but that doesn’t mean that you can just take everything out on him! Yes he’s wrong, and had no right to go there but he’s right about one thing, you always cause trouble! I’ve been with you for your whole life, I know what I’ve seen.”

His tone softened for a moment as he gazed sympathetically at Tommy. “Can’t you see history repeating itself? Why do you think Eret left? He knew how your story would end! It always ends like this, just me and you. I trust you with my goddamn life, but you never listen to me! You say you’d do anything for me, that we’re the only important things, but right now it sure as hell doesn’t seem so! Please just calm down, don’t you realize that it’s not just you that you’re hurting? It’s like fire, you’re burning everyone around you too!”

Tommy was no longer grinning, all the pride he had just felt had been stripped away. Tubbo was right. Why had he felt proud there- why did he feel satisfaction knowing that the blood flowing from George’s nose was his fault? He thought he was doing it to protect them both, to protect Tubbo. But all it did was make things worse, he wasn’t protecting Tubbo, he was being selfish, protecting his own wellbeing. Punching George didn’t make the situation better, and now Tommy was at fault, like he always was.

Tommy wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry, of seeing him without his walls. He walked calmly into what George presumed to be his room, and promptly locked the door, daring anyone to try and enter.

Muffled sobs could be heard from the room as Tubbo rushed to George, seeing how bad the damage seemed to be. George was lucky, and his nose was miraculously not broken, but it was still extremely painful. George didn’t ask as the fifteen year old patched him, not wanting to know why he did it with such swift and expert movements, as if he had done this action a million times.

George winced as Tubbo finished, rubbing the spot tenderly with a heavy sigh. Even if Tommy was the one who did physical damage, George had definitely started, and deserved it. He had known these kids for an hour, and from Tommy’s speech, it seemed like they were dealt the short end of the stick when it comes to life. 

Tommy had acted out of fear and desperation, fear that George had caused. Now, prior to contrary belief, George wasn’t stupid, and he knew that a someone shouldn’t be afraid of someone raising their voice, and it seemed that’s what the boys had initially reacted to. Yes, his words were awful and should have never been said to these boys, but it seemed as if Tommy was almost used to being yelled at, his eyes having glazed over, as if he wasn’t truly paying attention to George’s words.

Tommy had lashed out at George, but he didn’t stutter when he said anything, he didn’t go back on his words. It was like he had practiced it, or had repeated it many times. George seemed to have pushed the boy over the edge, and once Tommy had started, he wouldn’t stop until he was done. He had to make himself heard, George thought, something that supposedly didn’t happen often. He had to make sure he was ready for this moment, and Tommy was. 

Tommy was not prepared for the aftermath of his impulsive decision, socking the bitch in the nose. He was not prepared for Tubbo pleading him to calm down, bringing up memories that should stay buried. He remembered the smell of the jail cell that he had to spend a night in, his parents refusing to take time out of their day to pick him up.

He remembered how Eret didn’t show any remorse as he told the authorities where Tommy was hiding, hoarding stolen food, and loose cash from unsuspecting tourists. His mother barked threats at him as he came home, soaking wet. Reprimanded him with harsh words, leaving a red mark on his arm from gripping it to keep him from leaving. It was the moment Tommy finally decided he had enough, grabbing his school bag and stuffing it with what he deemed essentials. He remembered tapping on Tubbo’s window, cold and afraid.

He remembered the way Tubbo looked at him, the way his eyes filled with pity and assurance as Tommy recalled the events of the night. He scoffed. He had no need for pity, nor the sugarcoated words that dripped from Tubbo’s lips. But that night, he had accepted them with open arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back bitchs! Anyway we didn't see any trigger warning on this one, but if you see any, please let us know in the comments

Tommy tried to act like he was untouchable, a force that couldn’t be moved., but he was just a kid who had been forced to play grownup one too many times. As much as he wanted to act like it, he was still fifteen, and he wasn’t an adult. He was impulsive from being told no too many times, he was sick of just watching. But everytime he acted, all he did was fuck up, he really should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve noticed Tubbo’s pleading eyes, begging him to shut up for once.

Now George could hear the boy quietly sniffling in his room. He heard him murmuring as if he were talking to someone, but he heard no one else respond. It sounded as if he were talking to himself, though Tubbo didn ‘t seem worried or concerned about helping Tommy. He seemed to think that whatever Tommy was doing, it was the best course of action, and all they could do is wait. George wasn’t so sure about that, but he seemed to think it would be worse to try and intrude on the boy. He could apologize later.

Tubbo seemed to visibly relax once he realized that everything was going to be okay, though how did he know that? George wasn’t sure. Tubbo was one of those kids that people would call mature for their age, an old soul. He had this sort of peace about him, even when things went wrong, he knew what to do. He wasn’t the only one who had to act like an adult constantly, and it seemed to affect him in the opposite way than Tommy.

Where Tommy was loud and impulsive, Tubbo was quieter, more controlled. It made him scarier in George’s view, whereas everyone would immediately blame Tommy based on his personality, Tubbo could probably do just as much damage, with the added bonus of not being a suspect. 

The silence was interrupted by Tubbo suddenly asking, “Do you believe in ghosts, George? I was just wondering since earlier you mentioned something about being haunted.”

“I never mentioned anything about being haunted- why? Do you know something I don’t Tubbo?”

“George, you’re dodging the question, do you believe in ghosts?”

“If you want to know so bad, I guess I’m a bit less skeptical about ghosts lately. Where did this even come from? Like I said, I never said anything about being haunted.”

“Huh, oh! It was just the first thing that came to mind when you mentioned like the weird voice, and stuff. I’m sorry if that seemed really weird, I’ll stop talking about it now, if you’d like. I was just curious I guess.”

“It’s not a big deal really,” George chuckled a bit, tense. “It’s just.. Incredibly stupid. Nothing worth worrying over.”

“What if I wanted to worry over it?” Tubbo countered quickly, a slim eyebrow sliding up his features. George faltered at first, before letting another short laugh escape his lips.

“It’s so funny, actually.” He began. “I was on my computer and couldn’t find my phone for the life of me. I kept hearing it in every room but then it would be gone. And then.. It was just- there!” 

“I took it and just kinda sat there for a bit, confused as fuck because I hadn’t moved it all day. But then.. The second I looked away it was gone again!” He raised his arms in exasperation. “AND THEN AND THEN-” He dramatically paused. “You’ll never guess what.”

Tubbo was choking back laughter. “It was on top of the fridge. THE FRIDGE. I can’t even reach the top of the fridge.” George threw his arms back, joining along as Tubbo began gently giggling. He made eye contact with the younger boy as the tension began alleviating, cracking a smile. 

He continued, “And I know- yeah yeah, ghosts aren’t real.” George admitted defensively, not trying to sound stupid in front of a literal child. “Just.. it was really fucking bizare.”

Tubbo nodded, almost too intently at that fact as he listened in on George’s ranting. He didn’t have much to add, melting back into the cushion with a content, furrowed gaze. George collapsed into the armchair beside him with a tense cough, noticing the way Tubbo drifted in his mind. He was there one moment, and the next instantly encased in the confines of his thoughts. George thought it best to not interrupt him.

George’s mind eventually circled back to Tommy, seeking something to distract him. The boy hadn’t come out of his room for about an hour, though the sobs had seemed to die down. It still sounded like he was talking to himself, and George once again, didn’t hear a response. Was he on call with somebody? He couldn’t make out everything the boy was saying, but it seemed like he had calmed down from earlier. He caught the name Wilbur, and something about a cat hoodie. He wasn’t quite sure why it was what the boy was talking about, but it did seem he was in fact not talking to himself, unless he had an imaginary friend named Wilbur. At this point though, George expected far worse things.

The conversation seemed to get a bit more heated, Tommy having raised his voice even more. His voice was heard through the walls, back to it’s loud boisterous tone. But it didn’t sound like an awfully serious argument as Tommy shrieked,

“Cat hoodies are so stupid! Only bitchboys wear them, right Wilbur? That makes Dream a bitchboy!”

George had no idea who Dream was meant to be, and was assuming it was the same Wilbur. Tubbo seemed to disagree with Tommy, as he shouted back that, “Cat hoodies aren’t stupid Tommy! You’re just not a cat person! Also cat hoodies don’t make you a furry, because I know you’re going to try and bring that up!”

“Shut up Tubbo, no one asked you! Wilbur’s on my side anyway, therefore I’m automatically right!”

George was a bit taken back about how they were just casually conversing with each other, as if they hadn’t just had a screaming match earlier. He didn’t know when they had apparently made up, maybe when Tubbo was on his phone earlier? Either way, they seemed as if they had worked it out, as Tommy bounded out of his room with a large grin on his face. 

Tommy avoided eye contact with George as he took a seat next to Tubbo, his grin slightly falling as he noticed the bandages on George’s face. George decided that it was probably time for him to apologize, but Tommy beat him too it surprisingly.

He was staring at the ground, avoiding meeting George’s gaze, his voice being much quieter than it had when they first met.

“I’m sorry for punching you, I guess. Even if you deserved it cause you’re a bitch.”

“Tommy! Is there anything else you’d like to say?” Tubbo interjected. Unsurprisingly this must have been Tubbo’s idea. 

“Ugh, I’m also sorry for yelling and calling you a bitch, bitch.”

“Thank you for apologizing Tommy, I know it was probably not something you wanted to do. In reality, this whole thing was my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. It’s just been a bizarre day, and I can get really anxious when things aren’t clean, so I just kinda exploded. I shouldn’t have yelled, and I really didn’t mean what I said. I just- death is kinda a touchy subject with me, and I wasn’t really expecting it to come up- I just wasn’t really prepared.”

Tommy nodded, as if he didn’t really care what George said, he probably didn’t honestly. He blamed himself for the situation and nothing George would say would help that. George sighed in defeat before asking the burning question in his mind,

“Hey Tommy, Who’s Wilbur? I heard you mention his name and I just assumed you were on a call with him or something, same with Dream. I was just wondering.”

Tommy slightly froze at the unexpected question, as if George had done something wrong. Tommy’s posture loosened back up in an instant, acting as if nothing had happened. Tommy glanced at the corner of the room, looking for something that George couldn’t see. Had George just imagined it? With a smirk Tommy replied,

“Oh, he’s just one of my friends! I get on call with him alot, so does Tubbo! As for Dream, he’s fairly new,” he faked coughed as he added “and a massive bitch.” as if Dream could hear him. “But anyways! They're my friends I guess, even though I’m obviously the best. Not gonna lie, sometimes Wilbur looks like he just had seen a ghost, that man needs some sun or some shit. Like he’s terrifyingly pale.”

Tubbo laughed at Tommy’s word, another inside joke that George didn’t get. Why was Wilbur needing the sun funny, like he couldn’t have been THAT pale. In the end, it didn’t matter he guessed, as long as tensions stayed light and no one got punched again. A low bar to meet sure, but it was a bar no less.

The spent the rest of the day chatting away about mindless topics, George learning about Tubbo’s love for bees and piano, along with Tommy’s love of vinyl records. He learned that they both played Minecraft, and that they were much better than George, talking about the game and using terms that George could only hope to understand one day. He had no idea what the fuck a beacon was, or the fastest way to build a portal to the Nether, but these two obviously did. He had no doubt they could beat his ass at the game.

He also learned that surprisingly, Tommy was very artistic, his and Tubbo’s room being covered in painted murals. Supposedly there were unfinished paintings and sketches littered about the room, along with paints and pencils. Whereas Tubbo was really good with computers. Like REALLY good, this kid could probably damage someone’s career pretty quickly. Someone remind George to not get on the kid’s bad side. 

He learned that Tubbo had dyslexia and that the boys had been friends since they were five and had practically been inseparable ever since. He learned that Bad wasn’t technically their brother but had adopted them when they were twelve, after both of their parents had died. It explained more of their behavior, why they were sensitive to loud noises, why they always seemed ready for a fight. 

Tommy spun a tale about their tragic childhood, about how they had been in the foster system due to both their parents deaths. Infusing the stories with just enough truth so George wasn’t suspicious. He didn’t need to know that they technically weren’t orphans and that they’re parents were alive, just extreme assholes. He didn’t need to know that they weren’t legally adopted by Bad, or that they were never technically in foster care, unless you counted a hideout in the woods as care. But it was little white lies really, what George didn’t know didn’t hurt him, Tommy thought. Except for maybe the whole ghost thing. That may have been hurting him a bit, or at least not the best for his mental health. They should probably do something about that.

Apparently that last problem was going to be easily solved as the tv suddenly was turned on by the cat hoodie ghost, Dream. Of course George didn’t know about Dream and it was extremely terrifying when the tv turned on randomly to the movie Poltergeist, just as there was a jump scare. George jumped as Tommy and Tubbo laughed, though George would never admit this, as the boys seemed unphased, and it made George look like an extreme pussy.

George knew for a fact that neither of them had turned on the tv, both the boys hands were visible and neither held the remote, and George certainly hadn’t. It was then that George had realized that the remote was in fact floating, and that the boys had kept talking to each other as if this was a regular occurrence. George shrieked almost falling off the couch in his panic. Why was nobody else acknowledging this?! Tommy and Tubbo’s conversation was broken by George’s loud shriek as they noticed the remote. They in fact found this hilarious and started immediately laughing.

Tubbo finally spoke up, “Dream! Put the remote down, you’re going to give George a heart attack.”

Silence. The boys eyes widened at Tubbo’s words, realizing their mistake. At least George was about to find out about the looming… problem.

George was terrified to be honest, and Tubbo talking to thin air, was not helping in the slightest. Especially to the floating remote and referring to it as Dream, Tommy’s supposed friend that he was on call with earlier.

“Tubbo, Tommy. For the love of god, what the fuck is going on! Why the fuck are you so nonchalant about this shit? There’s a floating remote! Why are we not more freaked out about this?”

George shrieked, not truly believing his eyes. This could not be real, there’s no way that there was a ghost or some shit. Things didn’t just fly! This had to be some elaborate prank, right? Of course, that must be it! Some prank pulled by boys who wanted to make him look like a fool. Definitely.

“Well you know how I asked you about like believing in ghosts and stuff earlier? This may have been the reason.” Tubbo chuckled a little, pausing. “Not to alarm you or anything but you're kinda carrying around a haunted item? Also we can.. kinda see ghosts?”

Tubbo phrased the last part as a question, as if testing his limits. George realized that neither had any way to be controlling some string or remote, both their hands were visible and they were the only ones in the hand. He had to be dreaming, right? He pinched himself, immediately feeling a sharp pain in his arm. He was being haunted by a ghost, and the reason he found out was because of two teenage boys and a floating remote! He really was not being paid enough for this shit! He’s been punched, insulted, and had his entire philosophy and religious stance changed. What the fuck.

“Tubbo! You’re so fucking stupid! Why the hell would you tell him?”

“Tommy, he saw a flying remote! He has a right to know, he’s literally being haunted!”

Tubbo and Tommy bantered but it was all background noise to George. He was trying to uncloud his mind, trying to find some semblance of peace. His thoughts were muddled and he voiced them, hoping that would help. They seemed to know more about this, and at this point answers were answers.

“So I’m not crazy!” George exclaimed, pulling at his hair. He exhaled sharply, “Hold on- when the fuck did I start getting haunted?! How? I haven’t left my house in months, and I think I’d notice this bitch? When did I acquire a passive aggressive ghost with a love for making my shit fly and.. cat hoodies? Who fuck even goes by ‘Dream’? That’s such a stupid alias!”

“I’ll have you know it is not stupid”

George’s heart skipped a beat at the sound.

He glanced behind him, his eyes wide. 

There.. Hadn’t been someone behind him a second ago.

“Pretty funny name for a ghost if you ask me.” The dismembered voice continued. George couldn’t move. He hadn’t actually expected there to be a.. a.-

“God it’s such a relief that you can hear me now. Before we get distracted can you like take my hoodie out of that dusty ass duffle bag? I haven’t seen it in like weeks and I can’t exactly have that thing lose its sparkle. Maybe you could even put it on, greens a good color on you, cutie.”

The voice was the same as the one he had.. The one he heard, smooth as honey, like music to his ears. It lured him all the same as the first time he heard it, he didn’t think he could ever get tired of hearing it.

George turned around in his seat, shooting off the couch in alarm. Hot breaths evaporated against his neck, and he leaped forward with a squeal. He turned, eyes wide and knees bent, as if a wolf to prey.

There, lounging casually behind the couch, was a dimly yellow tinted form. His arms were slouched over the cushion where he had been sitting moments earlier, folded over the other nonchalantly. A smirk tugged at the boy’s lips.

He indeed had a cat hoodie draped over his shoulders, various fabrics etched into its length. A tight white and green shirt clung to his frame beneath it, stripes of the color adorning the expanse of it. Dream had thigh highs on and sheek black demonias on either foot. Fuck.. he’s hot.

Hold on- George CANNOT simp over the owner of a disembodied voice that’s been driving him insane. Nope, not happening, ever.

He wore the smirk of a troublemaker, lounging back in the air without a care in the world. His face was dusted with soft freckles, his golden hair perfectly framing his delicate face. Fuck. George was simping for a dead guy.

Tommy and Tubbo were not quite sure what to think. Mission accomplished they guessed? Now they just needed to find out what Dream was tethered to, break the seal and set him free. Simple. What even was Dream’s reason for staying? He didn’t seem like the type of person to have unfinished business, unless you counted being a nuisance.

“Hold up piss man- are you flirting with me?”

“I’d be more concerned about the fact that your piss is deep green.”

“I’m fucking colorblind, jesus christ.. Wait, no- no first, how long have you been here? You’re the one whos been fucking with my stuff, aren’t you.” He gasped sickly in mock disgust. “Wait- you’ve been watching me! That’s really creepy!”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” Dream laughed. “You’re the one who bought a fucking blood stained hoodie from some ghetto thrift store! Are you brain-damaged?” He paused. “Wait- you definitely are! This is an elaborate prank and we’re all actually figments of your imagination. Right Tommy and Tubbo?”

“Blood?” George paused, lurching forward. “Was.. was that really?” He glanced ominously towards his duffle bag, stomach dropping at the thought. “I thought it was just.. Tie dye..” He mumbled, half to himself.

Tommy shrugged, George was right in the sense that figments of your imagination couldn’t deck you in the face. He still wasn’t sure about the tie-dye excuse but he guessed George was short so that meant his brain was closer to gravity or something. Therefore he must be dumber than Tommy since Tommy is a big man and isn’t affected by small brain syndrome. Which in Tommy’s mind, George definitely had. How else could he be so short?

“Hey Dream, why are you tethered anyway? Ghosts have like unfinished business or like dreams to complete usually, but you don’t seem like the guy to have those.” Tubbo explained. “Like Wilbur wanted to be a famous musician- but he’s dead, so that’s kinda hard.”

George shrieked as another form materialized just in view. He jumped back at the sudden burst of blue, eyes shooting to the corner in deep fear. Another one?  
A light blue ghost materialized in the corner of the room, floating above the ground. He hovered a few inches off the ground, plucking silently at a dust-ridden guitar. It seemed to be the one area that wasn’t completely filthy, as if there were a barrier around it. 

Wilbur. The name felt foreign on his tongue. He was supposedly a musician in life. Could that have been his? It was actually pretty thoughtful for the boys to keep the area clean since they seemed to be so messy. Maybe the boys weren’t complete brats, or at least not always.

The ghost, Wilbur, was wearing a beanie where his hair swooshed out on the side of his face. He had a baggy sweater on which was tucked into his cuffed jeans, with black sneakers. George estimated that it looked like an early 2010s look. It was definitely indie, George knew that at least. Would it be rude to ask a ghost when it died? Was that like asking how old a woman was? George decided not to bring it up as he was already haunted by one ghost. He should not add another to that list.

And suddenly, the morbid aura surrounding this ghost dissolved as he began complaining. “I can hear you Tubbo! I even tried making spaghetti for you and we’re just going to bring up my trauma? Jesus, I’ve been betrayed.”

“You almost burnt down the house Wilbur! You didn’t have enough strength to put the water in the pot! Besides, we could go more into much deeper shit than you wanting to be a funky music man.”

“Oi, shut up child! At least Tubbo was kind with his passive aggressiveness! You don’t even try to be passive about it, you fucking gremlin! Besides, aren’t we forgetting the new ghost that is in our living room? You know, the one the short colorblind man from GoodWill brought? Y'know that one?”

“Yeah! I agree with the other Wilbur, let’s talk about me some more! I think we just may be soulmates Wilbur, we’re so in sync! Date at pizza hut?”

“Okay! Lets stop that conversation right there! Wilbur is correct and we should be focusing on the fact that I’m apparently in possession of a haunted hoodie! How do you even untether things? What even is untethering? Do you like killing ghosts? Does that make them double dead?”

“Oh Georgie, you want to get rid of me so soon? I thought we were besties!”

“You are so insufferable, oh my god! Tubbo, Tommy how do we get rid of him! He’s a jerk and I don’t like him.”

“You’re.. Handling this much better than I thought you would.” Tubbo laughed, almost cracking a smile. “Well untethering is like letting a soul pass on in peace. They’re able to rest knowing they finished everything. It isn’t like killing them, we think? I mean everyone has this sort of soft smile when they fade, so it doesn’t seem too bad. I’m happy for them, and now Dream gets to be one of them! Hopefully. So Dream, let’s just get to the bottom of things. I doubt George wants to deal with you all that long, so might as well get this over with.” He turned to Dream. “So, why are you still here?”

“I don't know.” He sighed. “I’ve tried everything man, appreciating the little things, making friends, seeing a sunset. Nothing has worked so far. Maybe I’m just built different or something.” He paused for a moment, almost letting himself fall to the melancholy mood he had so effortlessly created. But Dream wasn’t capable of that. “So getting me to pass on is obviously impossible, meaning I get to pester George until HE dies! Hear that George, ya can’t get rid of me.”

Tommy had been surprisingly quiet this whole time, not adding in any snide remarks, except the earlier jab at Wilbur. At some point in time he had retrieved a sketchbook and pencil, opting to doodle instead of paying attention to the conversation. To be fair, he probably knew this shit anyway, as he had apparently been talking to Dream earlier in the day alone, George thought. Truly, Tommy was an enigma, how the fuck could this kid go from screaming to silence once he was giving some art supplies.

But it seemed even art supplies couldn’t work magic after a few minutes as Tommy loudly proclaimed, “I’m booored,” dragging out the last word obnoxiously. “If you don’t start being funny or doing something, Imma start stabbing shit.

“OOH, I can help with that!” Dream suddenly added, bouncing from one foot to another. The lanky boy rolled back his sleeves, before making his way around the cough. He stepped before George with a graceful swiftness, pulling his arm back. And before George could react Dream had punched him in the face.

He shrieked in surprise, falling onto his ass in the confusion. Dream’s head fell back in laughter, a giddy noise that caught the boy off guard. He literally sounded short of breath, his laughter imitating that of a tea kettle’s. It was.. Weirdly adorable for someone as intimidating as him.

Wait, I'm meant to be mad at him. 

It took him a second to realize his face was scrunched up in annoyance rather than pain, and that- his fist hadn’t actually connected with George's jaw. He paused, realization sinking in. Oh right.. Ghost.

Dream threw his head back, collapsing over Tommy’s frame with a smirk. The boy only scrunched his nose, shoving the form off him. He sighed. “See, normally watching George get the shit beat out of him would be hilarious. But I think I’ve hit my quota.” He was disinterested. “Though it was pretty funny seeing him fall on his ass.” Tommy let out one short snicker. 

“Can we focus, please?” Tubbo groaned, his face stoic as he attempted to hold back the laughter bubbling in his throat. It was a.. Little funny.

George hung his head, his face flushed. “Dream, back to your.. Dilemma.” 

“I told y’all I don’t know,” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m fine here, I get to watch the world evolve and change. Plus, I can watch the stars all night, don’t need to eat, or sleep. Honestly it’s an ideal life not gonna lie. Someone’s being annoying? Fuck with them till they leave the house, it’s great.”

Dream smiled, sure he got a little lonely sometimes, but that wasn’t a big issue. Now he’s got four new friends, and one of them was even a ghost! It was true, he really didn’t see a point in moving on, completing a ‘life’ goal. Quite frankly, Dream didn’t really think one ultimate goal existed, the point was to live life as a collection of things, to experience, have fun. It wasn’t to work towards some arbitrary goal, there wouldn’t be any point. Like what would you even do after that? It’s like finishing a board game, but being forced to play on an empty board, and that wasn’t much fun, Dream thought.

“Besides, I don’t really think that there’s some universal goal, so I don’t think I can really complete one if I don’t have one. It’s not like I have some deep desire, at least that I know of. It’s not like I’m stuck anywhere, I can interact with everything and such, because unlike Wilbur here, I have motivation, and it’s to be a public nuisance!” 

Tommy and Tubbo glanced at each other, they had never met someone who was so content with being a ghost. They always wanted to move on, find peace, but Dream, he just didn’t care. It didn’t seem to mean anything at all, it just seemed like it hadn’t even crossed Dream’s mind. The boys, they didn’t really get why. It seemed horrible having to just watch as everything changed, they had talked to people who had. Ghosts hundreds of years old, recounting stories of war and conquest, empires rising and falling, and they were lonely, lost. Hundreds of years was a long time to watch the world itself change, not being able to truly enjoy any of it. They were usually like Dream or Wilbur, an unobtainable or unknown goal, but unlike Dream, they wanted to be free, be set to rest. Why was Dream so happy with this? Did he not realize that even ghosts won’t live forever? Even Wilbur would move on, Tommy and Tubbo would make sure of it. He deserved it more than anyone.

“Big D, you know that’s like a looong time right? Even if you don’t have some goal, you’re obviously here for a fucking reason. Like the Universe is a bitch, but it’s not that much of a bitch to not give you a way out. You may not know it yet, but soon you will.”

“That… was surprisingly mature and wise of you Tommy. Are you finally becoming a big man like you claim you are, child?” Wilbur commented, a smile on his face. As much as Tommy acted like it, Wilbur knew Tommy was an amazing kid, even if he did occasionally beat and threaten people. He was proud like an older brother would be, and Wilbur wasn’t ashamed. They were a family, and always will be.

“Oi! Shut up you fucking bitch! I’m always mature and wise! I’m such a big man, you can’t even comprehend it! And it sounded so wise because I was obviously right! Now, can we have some dinner, that isn’t burnt, uncooked spaghetti, Wilbur?”

“And he’s back ladies and gentlemen, give a round of applause!”


End file.
